


A Home for my Heart

by Moonrose91



Series: The Hearth Doesn't Make the Home [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Angst and Pain Mostly, Barrenness, Body Shaming, Bullying, Canon What Canon?, Character Death, Gen, Infant Death, M/M, Miscarriages, Slow Build Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Smashing of Timelines, Social Isolation, Stillbirths, mention of MPREG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 54,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For things Bilbo could not change, he was condemned to a life of isolation, with the belief that none could love him. And then a Dwarf came to Hobbiton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heart and Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syxx/gifts).



> For Syxx,
> 
> Who without her I would have been unable to finish this fic for your enjoyment and, had I managed to actually finish it without her help, would have been all the poorer without her insight, especially regarding the romantic and "improper" thoughts later in this fic.
> 
> Thank you, my Drift Compatible Partner,
> 
> Moonrose
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Here are Ewebean's  _beautiful_ pictures attached to this! THEY ARE PRETTY!!! SO PRETTY! YOU NEED TO SEE!!!](http://ewebean.tumblr.com/post/85334307366/illustrations-for-moonrose91s-story-a-home-for)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early years of Bilbo Baggins.

When Bilbo had been small, he had not thought himself strange.

After all, he had a mother and a father, just like anyone else. It would take a few times of going out to the Took smials and to the meadow with the Party Tree for him to realize that other faunts had something that Bilbo did not.

Siblings.

The first time Bilbo had asked about it, his mother had gotten a very sad look on her face and became frighteningly silent for _hours_ after.

The second time Bilbo asked, he asked his father when his father was alone.

His father had looked sad too, but not as much as his mother, and so Bilbo had listened carefully as Bungo explained something that Bilbo would have to carry for the rest of his years.

“Sometimes, something happens that has no rhyme and reason and there is nothing anyone can do to change it. You being an only child is one of those things. I’ll explain when you are older, but remember, no matter what you hear, it was _never_ your mother’s fault,” Bungo explained and Bilbo, too small to truly understand the meaning of the fenced-off garden of white daisies, too small to realize what his father was warning him about, nodded.

“I promise,” he swore and then skipped off to go snuggle with his mother.

When Bilbo was small, he had decided being an only child was a grand sort of thing, for he got his parents all to himself.

That he alone got his father’s undivided attention as he was taught Sindarin and the Language of the Rooks. Of walking (and being carried) down to the rookeries that had sworn to aid the Baggins Family in carrying messages to and from caravan leaders, and bonding with the birds that looked like they were wearing fluffy trousers.

That his mother got to teach him how to crochet and which plants were good and which were not, among other things, with her focus only on him, not on two. That only _he_ got to cuddle with his mother and listen to her singing songs that she had heard on her travels from before Bilbo was born.

Those feelings, however, all changed on the Midyear’s Day of his tenth year. For that was the day a bunch of other faunts ganged up on him and demanded to know where his twin was.

It only got worse from there. They surrounded him and poked and prodded, wanting to know if he had killed his twin in the womb, and if he had, why was he still in Hobbiton, as murder was wrong.

Frantic and in a near panic, Bilbo managed to free himself from his tormentors and ran till he could hide behind his mother’s skirts, shaking and crying.

Not even Gandalf’s fireworks later that night could cheer Bilbo up and he could not speak of it, even when his mother asked him much later what was wrong.

It was the first of many festivals ruined for Bilbo, as Hobbits are gossips to the core and they do not make sure that their children are out of hearing before gossiping about the Only Child Under the Hill.

The other faunts only got worse with time, for when his playmates began to gain the roundness they would work on till adulthood, Bilbo began to grow thinner instead.

Oh, he had a softness to his belly, a bit of a pooch, but that was the extent of his roundness. It was the extent of his width and, sometimes, he got even _thinner_ while doing the same things others did, despite the fact the others grew rounder.

When he was twelve, he was pinned to the ground by bullies and force-fed mud until one of the Bounders came over and broke it up, leaving Bilbo to vomit up the mud practically on his own before he made his way back to Bag-End, where he refused to talk about it.

When he felt his body shift at the time before entering tweenhood, felt that feeling of fertility under his hands, hope began to bloom that he would one day have a family of his own.

He began to have hope that how the others treated him would change.

While he had double-checked, privately, with the Baggins Family healer, who confirmed that Bilbo was in fact a Bearer, a male Hobbit who could carry children, before telling his parents what he had sensed, he had been over the moon and beyond the stars with the information. His parents had been equally excited and they had thrown a party to welcome Bilbo’s change. Blinded as he was by his hope, Bilbo did not hear the words of those around him bantered about. Whispers that the barrenness of the mother had passed to the son and, no matter what he sensed, he would never carry a child, and his thinness proved that.

Shortly after his party to celebrate his Bearer status, his father took him aside and lead him up to the fenced off garden and explained as he had promised all those years ago. Bungo explained to Bilbo that the garden, this garden, that no one else had, was a private graveyard, for the children unborn, or those born without life.

They had been started during their Wandering Days, and fields of certain flowers that dotted around were marks of those lost, but only they really had this graveyard and then Bungo lead Bilbo over to the tree in the middle.

It was there that Bungo explained that Bilbo had been born with a twin, but both had been born early and sickly.

Bilbo had survived and his twin had been buried under a sapling that grew into this tree.

It was only after gaining this information that Bilbo felt his hope shiver like a candle in the wind. For it was only then that Bilbo realized that he would be alone for the rest of his life unless he could change his thinness, or his mother’s lack of children.

As his mother’s lack of children was something he could not change, he began to look for ways to gain the proper roundness Hobbits were known for. He listened to the healer in all regards to his Bearer status and followed the herb mixture that would keep him from getting pregnant should he have sex with anyone (though it was easier to get pregnant with other males), taking it at the prescribed times required.

Only after gaining this information did he press the healer for ways to gain weight and when she had no answer, Bilbo searched for other ways. In his search, he tried every trick he had ever heard and may have even bought a few ‘potions’ that others said would help, but only got him violently ill and lost him pocket money.

After the second time he was tricked by such a ‘quick’ remedy to his thinness, Bilbo just tried to eat as often as he could, which resulted in the same side-effect as the ‘fattening’ potions he had tried.

It did not stop him from trying, however, even as he turned twenty and the only thing Bilbo had to show for his efforts was his slight belly. Not the nice roundness expected of Hobbits, for even those who were poor (or as poor as one could be in the Shire) were rounder than Bilbo.

He was barely clinging to hope of starting a family of his own when the Fell Winter came and killed it all.


	2. Losing Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fell Winter comes.

Bilbo frowned a bit as he looked out the window at the snow that fell gently from the sky to coat the ground. “Snow has come early this year,” Belladonna murmured softly as she came to lean over Bilbo’s shoulder and Bilbo nodded a bit in agreement.

“Think we should head up for the Took Smials?” Bungo questioned as he came to join them in staring out the window.

“Not for awhile yet, I think. It is just a light dusting,” Belladonna answered and Bungo huffed softly.

“That’s what you said when Bilbo was a babe. It snowed a _foot_ then,” Bungo retorted and Belladonna laughed before she walked away from Bilbo, who continued to stare out the window.

“Is something wrong Bilbo?” Bungo asked softly as Belladonna’s light humming began.

“I don’t think anyone is going to come courting me,” Bilbo responded softly and Bungo sighed before he sat down next to Bilbo.

“Is this about you eating yourself sick?” Bungo asked and Bilbo turned to face him.

Both his father and mother were fine examples of Hobbit beauty. His mother had brunette curls that fell around perfectly pointed ears and her foot hair was quite thick, and a soft roundness to her that many a Hobbit lass was jealous of, if his eavesdropping was anything to go off of. His father was a fine example of a gentlehobbit, marrying a Took aside, with looks to match his wife.

It was Bilbo’s curse to know that his parents were quite handsome in any Hobbit’s regard, while he was…not. For while he had his father’s pale brunette curls and his mother’s hazel eyes, both features were put at odds with a frame that was too thin to be pleasing and thinner than average foot hair. While he would not go as far to say he was ugly, he knew he was far from attractive, and any attempt to make himself more appealing was…well, pointless.

He had only had one courting prospect, Peaseblossom Proudfoot, and she had eyed their fine furnishings and heirlooms that Bilbo would receive as the only child with too greedy of an eye for Bilbo to accept her courting as honest.

Bilbo shrugged, realizing he hadn’t answered his father in his musings and turned to stare out the window again. “Oh, Bilbo,” his father murmured and he was being pulled into a hug, and a kiss was pressed to his curls.

“You are only twenty-one years old. Someone will come, you’ll see,” Bungo promised as Bilbo pressed his face into the crook of his father’s neck, soaking in the comfort offered.

“How about some Sindarin lessons?” Bungo questioned and Bilbo grinned as he pulled back from his father’s embrace, though not out, nodding eagerly.

While a majority of the Baggins Family, ironically, had trading businesses, it was _Bungo’s_ trading business brought him in contact with Elves as far as Rivendell and he even had a friend in Lord Elrond, though admittedly only through letters. As Bungo’s only heir, Bilbo had to learn all the parts of Bungo’s business, instead of sharing the load with a twin. Bilbo, sometimes, imagined what it would have been like to have one like him (or similar enough) and Bilbo had long decided he would have taken up the travelling while his twin stayed at home.

But those were thoughts for later as he worked his way through the latest letters Bungo had laid out for Bilbo, Bilbo grinning when he realized it was addressed to him.

Soon, the only sounds that could be heard were Belladonna’s humming with the sound of pots being pulled out as she readied whichever meal was next, Bilbo’s soft Sindarin (and Bungo’s occasional corrections), and the wind whistling outside Bag-End.

It was peaceful and Bilbo, despite being quite happy, couldn’t shake the feeling that something worse than no one coming to court him was about to happen.

Two days later, Bilbo couldn’t help but frown out at the snow that now came to the windowsill, very glad that he had asked the Rooks at his last visit to fly to Rivendell for this winter. They would have never survived this kind-of snowfall easily and that feeling of something _else_ at work grew a little more at the thought.

This was not normal snowfall and his frown only deepened when he heard a howl that could not have come from the wind, followed by a horn blast.

When he turned to ask his parents, his words were frozen in his throat due to the sight that met him. His mother was on her feet, tensed all over in a way that Bilbo remembered when she was teaching him how to use a knife while his father was almost as pale as the snow, his hands gripping a book far too tightly. “What is it?” Bilbo asked softly.

“The Horn of the Bucklands,” Bungo responded quietly.

“The Shire is under attack,” Belladonna finished and Bilbo swallowed nervously before he turned to stare out the window.

“By what?” Bilbo asked, but there was no answer from either of his parents.

* * *

Bilbo never thought he would see the day that he had to actually put to use the fighting his mother had taught him, but it came to pass one week later. All three Bagginses were on their way back from one of their neighbors when a great White Wolf that looked a bit sick (and felt diseased) leapt over a snow bank (or possibly a low smial in the snow).

Bilbo hadn’t thought, he had just reacted and the knife was sinking into the Wolf’s throat. It pulled back with a low gurgling whine before baring its teeth at Bilbo, but that was enough time to have Belladonna leaping in to finish the wolf off.

The snow was painted red and he dragged the knife out of the wolf’s throat.

And then the three of them dragged the wolf with them to be skinned and the meat dried, for already their stores were starting to grow low.

“This will make a nice coat lining, don’t you think Bilbo?” Belladonna asked and Bilbo nodded slowly before he glanced at his father.

His father who was staring at Bilbo as if he had just watched Bilbo lose something precious, and Bilbo couldn’t help but agree with the look.

Three more Wolves died that week at the hands of Bilbo and Belladonna before the screeching started. Bilbo reeled back in fear at the sound and Belladonna was already shoving him back inside before she began to work on boarding up the windows.

“What is that?” Bilbo asked.

“Orcs,” Belladonna answered softly and Bungo let out a rather vicious curse in Sindarin.

Belladonna didn’t scold him playfully this time about language and that scared Bilbo more than the Orc screams that filled the air.

* * *

The first time Bilbo saw an Orc, it was sneaking up on a house that was looking ready to collapse under the weight of the snow, screeching and calling in a way that had Bilbo shivering in fear.

Bilbo had been there to help with spreading about medicine with his father, as the elderly, faunts, and pregnant Hobbits (male and female alike) began to fall ill. His father was inside a smial and Bilbo heard, over the screaming, echoing, shrieks, a faunt’s frightened cries.

It was upon hearing those cries that Bilbo moved as his mother had taught him. His knife darted out of the sheath on his forearm and sliced across the back of the Orcs knees. Soon the snow was a churned up gray, and then he ran, hiding in the snow as the Orcs, silently, hunted for the slayer of their kin before dragging him off.

Bilbo didn’t know why they had dragged the other Orc off, nor did he ever want to know. Bilbo was just thankful he got away.

It was shortly after Bilbo’s foolish stunt that Bungo got sick.

It was up to Bilbo to help the Healers with the growing number of sick and starving Hobbits and it was one that Bilbo took to with pride. The winter was colder and longer, for when Bilbo was sure spring should come and the Green Lady smile upon them, the winter only grew in its terribleness.

Darkness clung to the edges of the Shire and Bilbo wondered if maybe, just maybe, this would bring about the end of the Shire, except…

Under all the snow and ice and chill, he could sense _life_.

And for that reason, he held hope for the Shire, even as he started to lose any for himself.

* * *

The Wolves and Orcs continued to raid the Shire, killing any caught outside without a weapon, the Tooks and Brandybucks stretched thin, the Bounders protecting the narrower areas.

Bungo struggled to breathe, waiting for it to pass, and Belladonna never left his side, waiting for Bungo to get well.

Bilbo stared at the boarded up window as he waited for spring, though as he waited, he _fought_.

The Fell Winter has just begun to die when Bungo Baggins passed to the Green Lady’s Pastures.

Bilbo isn’t there when he passes, but when he returns, black and red blood staining his clothes, it is to the sight of his mother staring listlessly at the fireplace and, even though she was dressed in bright colors, Bilbo was willing to swear that she was bathed in gray.

Bilbo just sat at her feet, resting his head against her knee.

She didn’t react.

* * *

Bilbo was travelling quickly and quietly from one of the farther flung families who was barely making it to the closest healer’s smial with practiced silence that would put even the most agile of Hobbits to shame.

It had been a week since some able bodied Hobbits had come to take Bungo’s body away and already the snow was starting to become slightly slushy in the afternoon. The Fell Winter was _finally_ ending, and Bilbo was already planning things to do once spring came.

As he was picking up speed in hopes of getting home before dusk fell, he heard the escalating of the Orcs’ hunting cries and the high pitched scream of fear from a Hobbit.

Bilbo didn’t hesitate to change direction. He didn’t even pause as he came across the Orc pack cornering a Hobbit, he just leapt onto the first Orc, cutting him down while he shouted at the other Hobbit to run.

Bilbo hadn’t thought this plan all the way through as he felt a sharp, burning pain across his back from his right shoulder to his left hip. He spun around as best he could, knives at the ready, only to barely keep the Orc from running him through.

It only got worse. For when one fell, another _two_ were quick to take their fellow’s place and they were slowly surrounding Bilbo, trying to corner him.

Bilbo, who was soaked in black blood and surrounded by snow that was churned up so that it was a sickening gray, knew they he could never take them all. With a pained sound, and the knowledge that this was a worse plan than going after the Orcs in the first place, he did something no other Hobbit had ever done.

He rushed them.

The Orcs, not expecting that, especially of an _injured_ Hobbit, and were easily plowed through, as it were, falling to Bilbo slicing at their legs.

Despite the pain Bilbo was in, he grit his teeth and continued to run, using all the innate skills of a Hobbit to avoid capture and suddenly he was tackled in the snow.

He gasped in agony as fiery pain burned through his shoulder, upper arm, and he thinks he hears the snapping of something, maybe his collar bone. There’s also pain from his hip to mid-thigh, and he can’t stop the scream of agony that is ripped from him.

He doesn’t hesitate to take the knife and drive it into the source of his pain. It is only when the pain lessens slightly and it lets out a pained howl that Bilbo realizes it is a white Wolf.

Like the Orcs, however, the White Wolves travel in packs. This White Wolf’s pack seemed to melt out of the snow at the howl, ready to avenge their fellow and have one last quick meal before the Brandywine melted, when the Orcs rushed into the clearing.

The two packs immediately turned on each other, snarling as they ripped each other apart, while Bilbo bled out in the snow, staining it red. Before they had time to rip each other apart further, arrows filled the air as darkness over took Bilbo’s vision.


	3. Broken Heart

Bilbo came to with a whimper of pain as fire burned through his skin.

He couldn’t move, why couldn’t he move?

Panic began to race through his mind, mingling with the pain and making him feel sick. He tried to twist away from the hands, and then there was something sparking across his mind.

Life, old life, _ancient_ life, older than the Making of the World, maybe. Or maybe just as old, but it was _familiar_ , if now more powerful than when he had sensed it before.

“Gandalf?” he whimpered.

“Shh, my boy. You’ll be fine,” Gandalf soothed, and Bilbo slipped back into darkness.

When he awoke again, the quiet hum of life that ebbed and flowed around him spoke of spring returned to the Shire.

“Spring,” Bilbo mumbled softly.

He didn’t hear the Baggins Family Healer’s sharp intake of breath at the word.

* * *

The funerals all take place once everyone is back on their feet.

Bilbo, still with a broken collarbone and thin in a whole new way, somehow supports his mother, who is hollowed eyed and hollow cheeked. Belladonna Baggins is Fading away before their eyes, and no one is sure what to think about that.

When Bungo’s funeral is over, he helps his mother back to their smial and goes to the rest of the Baggins Family funerals alone, though looking paler and sicker than when he was at Bungo’s funeral.

It is a shock to see someone who is not yet an adult taking on the responsibilities of Head of the Family, and then they remember that that is what he is. Once they remember, they are too shocked, too far in mourning, to try and fight it, to protest.

By the time they get their feet under them, Bilbo is already entrenched in his duties as the Head of the Baggins Family.

* * *

The Sackville-Baggins (the addition of the ‘Sackville’ in front of the Baggins was new due to the fact the head of the Sackville family had no sons and had died during the Fell Winter, giving the title of Head of the Sackville family to Longo and Camilla’s two year old son, Otho but it was being ‘held’ by Longo Sackville-Baggins till Otho came of age, just as the Sackville clothing making business was being held by Camilla Sackville-Baggins until Otho’s twin sister, Osmunda, came of age) are the first to try and get Bilbo out of his position.

It is a failure before it has even began, for the Thain is on Bilbo’s side in this, family relations aside, for it is family relations that make him want to push Bilbo to give it up. But he doesn’t and, instead, focuses on the argument. _Too young_ is a foolish thing to say, for Bilbo has been aged beyond his years by the Fell Winter.

All the children have.

When Bilbo does not break, does not bend, the Sackville-Baggins run off, with every intention of gathering their resources, their arguments, and battering Bilbo down. The trading business does not falter for the change between father and son, so they dismiss those arguments. He is able to adequately perform his duties as the Head of the Baggins Family, but they can push that he doesn’t have the experience to truly be able to hold the position in the long run.

But in the end, it is the fact his mother is so obviously suffering from the Fading that gives them the perfect argument.

* * *

Bilbo’s hands trembled slightly in his lap as he tried to think of an argument against what the Sackville-Baggins were saying. Because his mother was Fading (she was dying, slowly but surely, for half her soul was gone, and how could anyone survive that?), he wasn’t fit to be the Head of the Baggins Family or even run his father’s business?

“You have to understand, dear, this sort of thing…she needs someone to constantly look after her. And you can’t do all three. It is for the best, really. Just till you reach your majority, at the latest. Because no one Fading lives for long. She probably won’t make it to your next birthday,” Camilla continued, and Bilbo feels as if his voice is trapped in his throat.

“Have you even found the time to mourn Bungo or check up on Belba?” Longo questioned gently and Bilbo shook his head slowly.

Belba had been worrying over her twin boys Herugar and Hagan, all three of them of the Bolger family, but as Belba was Bungo’s twin, he…he…

“See dear? It is too much for…” Camilla pressed, only to be interrupted by a sharp, almost breathless, snarl of, “Shut up Camilla!”

Bilbo turned suddenly and was on his feet. “Ma…Mother,” Bilbo cried out as he rushed over to Belladonna, who was gripping the doorframe so hard that her knuckles were bone white, as opposed to the sickly paleness that still clung to her.

“Get _out_ Camilla, and you too Longo! And may the Merciful Lady grant you peace for I shall certainly _never_ let you have it from me!” Belladonna snarled as she attempted to leap at them, though the fact she stumbled and was caught by Bilbo stopped her.

They were quick to retreat and Belladonna trembled all over before she turned to Bilbo. He stared up at her, trembling just as much and Belladonna immediately hugged him, though she also slumped against him before she hummed comfortingly. “Oh, my baby boy, don’t you worry. I’m not going to be leaving you anytime soon. And if they _ever_ try that again, I will rip their hair out by the roots,” Belladonna promised.

Bilbo just nodded in agreement and a soft sob escaped and soon, mother and son were collapsed on the floor, finally mourning all that had been lost.

* * *

Belba startled slightly when she heard a knock on the door and faced the direction of the door. “Hagan, could you get the door, please?” Belba called as she tried to concentrate on lunch.

She couldn’t concentrate well since Bungo’s death and…

All the talk about Bilbo, and knowing the Head of the Baggins Family was now Bilbo didn’t help. He…he was just five years older than her own boys! And he was alone and how…

“Cousin Bilbo!” Hagan exclaimed and Belba turned in surprise, rushing to the kitchen doorway to find Bilbo standing in the front hall, thin as ever, with his five years younger, yet easily rounder and heavier, cousin staring at him shock.

“Bilbo, you’re just in time for lunch! Care to join us?” Belba asked.

“Always Aunt Belba,” Bilbo answered warmly.


	4. Missing Home

Bilbo frowned at his favorite pot (pure copper with a bail handle and a lid, perfect for carrying stew and such down to a party) as he ran a finger along the crack that had come from someone (one of the Sackville-Bagginses) dropping (throwing) it during one of his birthday parties, though which (twenty-fifth), Bilbo wasn’t sure about.

Bilbo wonders if he’ll ever learn to at least lie to himself, but he highly doubts it.

It had been eleven years passed since his father had gone to the Green Lady’s pastures (twelve since his father had given him this pot) and his thirty-third birthday was fast approaching.

In that time, Bilbo had grown to learn that no one would court a skinny, possibly barren, busy, Hobbit.

And they wouldn’t accept his courting either, but he hadn’t really looked for another, when they wouldn’t approach him and whispered behind their hands about how he was probably as barren as his mother.

His frown shifted and he felt a sort of emptiness take the place of his irritation before he slowly set the pot back down on the counter and set the lid into place. He really should sell it (but the thought twists his heart and turns his blood to ice and he can’t entertain the thought), because he didn’t trust any of the tinkers to take care of his pot, beyond melting it down.

He sighed softly at the loss and looked away from the pot when a knock echoed through the smial.

“I have it Mama,” Bilbo called needlessly as he headed to the door and opened it to find Holman Greenhand, the son of Bag-End’s gardener Halfred, standing on the other side.

“What is it Holman?” Bilbo asked the thirteen years younger than him Hobbit lad, who looked as if he had run the entire way.

“Down in Hobbiton, there’s a blacksmith,” Holman stated and Bilbo gave a small start, before considering.

“Who moved?” Bilbo questioned.

He knew there were blacksmiths in Bywater, nestled in Tookborough, and over in the Bucklands, but there had not been a blacksmith in Hobbiton in Bilbo’s lifetime, despite the fact there were a pair of well-cared forges near the Water.

“No one, Master Baggins. He’s a Dwarf,” Holman stated and Bilbo immediately understood why Holman had run all the way up here.

“I’ll be right out Holman,” Bilbo answered and retreated inside.

* * *

One of the, unofficial, duties of the Head of the Family, or at least the most powerful Head of the Family, was to appraise any Outsiders. If the Head of the most powerful Family bought, traded, or worked with an Outsider, others would follow. Follow ups to the Outsider’s place of business also, subsequently, meant an increase in business for each visit.

The fact Holman had run up, possibly at his father’s request, suggested that the Dwarf was not doing well, financially. Bilbo respected Halfred (and Holman) and with that respect came an understanding, a friendship even. So Holman’s words told Bilbo that Halfred was asking Bilbo to give the Dwarf business.

After telling his mother (nearly bedridden, as she was Fading faster than before now that Bilbo’s Coming of Age was coming closer every day) where he would be going, he had left, with his favorite pot.

While he couldn’t trust the tinkers to fix it, maybe the blacksmith would be willing to work with copper. Some were, but to make the trip for a repair when those blacksmiths had long and hard schedules, filled with making farm tools or things needed?

Bilbo couldn’t do that to the farmers who needed their things as quickly as possible.

But a blacksmith up here would not have nearly as many things needed right away, especially as he wouldn’t be able to start work till tomorrow and would, likely, just bring out his things that were already made. Holman was at his elbow and Bilbo wondered if this Dwarf would end up taking on an apprentice or if he had one already. “Just one Dwarf?” Bilbo asked.

“He took the small forge. It isn’t easy to run with one person, but it is possible. Well, took is wrong. Traded for it, really,” Holman stated and Bilbo nodded at both what was said and what wasn’t.

Traded meant that he had little, or no, money, or was down on his luck.

Well, no Dwarf was bad in a forge and Bilbo would trust his work on that alone.

As Bilbo rounded the last bend before the forge, Holman stayed behind, leaving Bilbo to make his own judgment.

As Bilbo made his way down the path to the small forge, he considered the wagon that stood next to the lean-to that opened into the pen. Within the pen were a pair of rough ponies (one bay and one gray) that were munching on the grass _within_ the pen. Both the lean-to and the pen were close to the forge, where the Dwarf that had come to the Shire was setting up a stall before the forge to show off what he could make or for sale.

Either was possible.

He was tall and broad, wearing a loose, long-sleeved tunic that was belted around the waist, sturdy pants (much like the kind the farmers wore, though longer) and heavy boots. As even _Hobbit_ blacksmiths wore boots to protect their feet from the embers and heat, as not even a Hobbit’s tough feet could withstand the dangers of a forge, Bilbo wasn’t too surprised by them. Bilbo still thought boots looked odd, however, even with having seen Hobbit blacksmiths wear them.

The Dwarf shifted and Bilbo’s eyes snapped up to the Dwarf’s face, and wondered if maybe this wasn’t just a short man. For while the hair from his head was practically a wild mane, it was free of any adornments, and his beard was close cropped so that it conformed to his jaw, but…

There was something about the Dwarf that suggested he was a Dwarf and that…well, he had presence that clung to him like a cloak. That presence almost made Bilbo want to swear to follow the Dwarf to whatever ends, though what those ends could be, or would be, was something that he could not grasp.

“Good afternoon, Master Dwarf. I’m Bilbo Baggins, of Bag-End,” Bilbo greeted and the Dwarf nodded, before his eyes lingered on the pot Bilbo was holding.

“Don’t work copper,” the Dwarf stated.

“And the forge is not open today,” he added gruffly.

Well, his manners were lacking, but some of the Hobbit blacksmiths were worse, so Bilbo mentally shrugged it off. “Not even to place an order?” Bilbo asked and the Dwarf looked up, eyes dragging along Bilbo.

“What for?” he asked.

“Can you make an iron copy of this, to start with? I find myself in need of an entirely new set of kitchenware,” Bilbo explained, holding up the pot.

The Dwarf reached out and took the pot, and Bilbo (Bilbo who remembers when he took a chest to get varnished and it was improperly done, because it wasn’t Hobbiton and they could afford it and it was just _Bilbo_ in the end, and who remembers getting charged up to three times the price to have things fixed and having it either improperly done or done to the point where he needs to pay for it being fixed again and sets about learning himself, for anything that doesn’t need a forge, except his sense of duty keeps him going to those in Hobbiton or they _will_ begin to starve if Bilbo doesn’t go back on occasion and he can’t, no matter how horrible they were, are, to him, let that happen to them, and maybe he really is too kind) barely keeps from tensing as the Dwarf turns it over and around in his hands.

He is obviously being careful and Bilbo remembers to breathe.

“A tinker could fix it,” the Dwarf stated.

Bilbo thinks of the copper brooch and the copper pans and how they are just twisted decorations now and he gives a tiny smile that is not really a smile and more of a pulling of muscles across his face to give an impression of a smile. “That is, unfortunately, not an option for me,” Bilbo answered and he sees a slight tensing in the Dwarf’s shoulders.

This, Bilbo can tell, will not end well for him.

“I can make a replica. May I take the pot as part of my payment?” the Dwarf nodded and Bilbo’s heart seized.

It is one of the few gifts remaining from his father that he has, but his smile stays and he, slowly, nods. “If you so desire Master…?” Bilbo answered, though he trailed off slightly when he realized he didn’t know the Dwarf’s name.

“Nothir,” the Dwarf answered and Bilbo felt that the name didn’t fit the majestic Dwarf.

“Master Nothir,” Bilbo finished.

The Dwarf, Nothir, nodded a bit. “I shall have it for you the morning after next, if you desire to pick it up, or you could have it by this upcoming…Steresday if you wish to wait for me to deliver,” Nothir explained and Bilbo nodded.

“Highday is the end of our week, and in three days,” Bilbo offered.

He had a feeling that Nothir would be getting a calendar soon.

Well, more than a feeling.

Bilbo was going to have a calendar sent to the Dwarf, along with an explanation of how the Shire Calendar _worked_ so that Nothir could do his work. “Highday then,” Nothir corrected softly.

Bilbo smiled. “Well, it will not be out of my way to pick up the pot. How much for the replica?” Bilbo inquired, barely managing to keep his voice level, and Nothir considered the pot for a moment before he answered, “Five silver pennies.”

Bilbo said nothing about the slight raise of price. Two more than average was better than most and for a Dwarven pot, not worth mentioning at all. “I shall pay up front, if that is alright with you?” Bilbo asked.

“Fine,” Nothir answered and Bilbo paid.

He then bid Nothir good day and headed back up the path. Holman joined him and Bilbo immediately pulled him up. “Holman, I need you to do me a favor,” Bilbo stated as they walked up the path, towards the Hill.

“Anythin’ Master Baggins,” Holman answered.

“I need you to go to the stationers and buy me about…fifteen packets of the heavy cream paper. Also, get me a journal while there, any cover. Here’s my moneybag. Go!” Bilbo ordered and Holman nodded before taking off.

Holman would not allow himself to be ripped off and Bilbo continued walking up to Bag-End, all the while hoping that the relationship between himself and the Dwarf wasn’t completely destroyed before it had even begun.

With a low sigh, Bilbo closed his eyes briefly while he stood in his garden and then he shook himself all over and slipped inside.

He had trading agreements to look over and maps to update and routes to plan, and he would need the rest of the afternoon to do it if he wanted to have the calendar ready for binding tomorrow.

* * *

Thorin hummed as he gave another, appraising, glance over the pot.

His sister could always use a copper pot and this one was quite good.

Not Dwarvish, but _good_ , fantastic even, enough that he almost wanted to ask _Master Baggins_ who the craftsman was, but kept himself silent, for _Master_ _Baggins_ was one of those that Thorin despised, who took fine craftsmanship and tossed it aside when it was broken instead of taking it to be repaired.

Thorin carefully settled the pot inside the forge, out of sight of customers, but where he would spot it before he walked around to his room behind the forge.

Thorin sighed as he leaned against the cold anvil and grit his teeth.

Exile was a horrible thing, especially when it was done by kin, or worse, those that wanted power for themselves.

“A dragon taking Erebor would have been better,” he muttered lowly, remembering only too well the Battle of Azanulbizar.

Remembering how he was too young (far, _far_ too young) to watch his grandfather be beheaded or having to burn the bodies instead of interning them in stone, for there were too many, all for the sake of greed and desire to possess a past that was lost to them at this time.

Of returning to Erebor, to _home_ , after the Battle was over, only to find he had to try and rule the kingdom from behind the throne as his father fell into a grief fueled madness. It had only grown worse as the Council saw the opportunity in a greed inspired insight to turn Thráin against his eldest son. When Thráin had exiled Thorin, he had fully expected to go alone. He had almost desired it, if only so he would not have to face those he had failed.

Dwalin and Balin had caught up with him about a mile outside of Dale, having obviously slipped past the guard with the help of the thief Thorin had kept from being executed, Nori. Nori’s brothers, Dori and Ori had shown up a week later, with Glóin and his wife, Rella.

Thorin had spent every waking moment from Dale till they were almost to Rivendell trying to convince every single one of them to go back, but they refused to leave him. Balin would not follow anyone else, it seemed, and Dwalin had sworn to always stay at Thorin’s side as guard and shield brother, Glóin and Rella claimed family ties strengthened with the sharing of a battlefield. Thorin never got Nori’s story, nor the stories of his brothers, but Thorin suspected it hinged on the fact he had seen injustice and stepped in when he could have stayed silent.

A few months after they had settled in the village at the foot of the Blue Mountains, Dís, her husband Silir, and a barely in his second year of life Fíli, with Óin had appeared, bringing news of Erebor, little of which was good.

Since that day, he had wondered (probably far more than was wise) how Erebor had fared, if his Father would lift his exile from Dwarvish settlements so that he could at least wear simple adornments in his hair, even if he had to keep his beard shorn short against his chin rather than leave his hair unadorned. If one day he could live in the Dwarven halls _within_ the Mountain instead of having to live in a _Man’s_ village at the foot of the mountain.

But it is for that reason and these thoughts that Thorin will only be barely civil to _Master Baggins_ , who looks more a grocer than one who can throw money around like it doesn’t matter but…

He reminds Thorin of the Council and for that he will treat _Master_ _Baggins_ with the barest of civility he can muster.

(But he does not think he can muster much civility when faced with that he hates just below the Orcs.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite thing about this chapter is not just the ‘bringing forth’ of Thorin/Nothir, but the revealing of things.
> 
> Both had to watch those they love die (Thrór and, in a way, Thráin for Thorin, Bungo and, slowly watching Belladonna die, for Bilbo), had to see a lot of death and watch those die around them while children/tweens (Azanulbizar, the Fell Winter), _and_ were thrust into positions of power before coming of age (the Thorne of Erebor, Head of the Baggins Family).
> 
> However, while Thorin was ousted (I had to find a reason for them not to be in Erebor, but also a reason for Thorin to risk getting involved with someone _not_ a Dwarf, and with no dragon… Thráin got to be someone who has lost their mind and is being used by power hungry, evil people, aka the evil Council), Bilbo remained in power (he’s still the Head of the Baggins Family, due to the fact his mother is fading and _can’t_ take that position), but while Thorin has been, and still is, well loved and supported, Bilbo is despised and has little support (and the support he _does_ have he can count on one hand and only two, soon to be one, of them is kin).
> 
> I love this series, for the angst is like a stained glass window portraying a death scene; beautifully tragic.


	5. A Heart Locked Away

It has been a couple of months (Astron when he came to the Shire, and it is Forelithe now and he only knows that due to the calendar given to him by a tweenish Hobbit lad who brought it at closing on the first day he had the forge open) since Master Baggins first started showing up, and Thorin _still_ isn’t sure what to think after the initial visit from Master Baggins, what it feels like to feel his false name fall from his lips and to hear it returned with utter respect, then and since.

Or, after that first visit, how he suddenly gets a small congregation looking to buy pre-made things or just waiting for him to get a breather so that they can give him their orders, gossiping the entire time about Master Baggins behind their hands as they waited.

He’s not well liked, as far as Thorin can tell, and it is mixed with pity (though for what, Thorin does not know) sometimes, but despite this, Master Baggins always comes back, even if visiting means he’ll have to speak to the other Hobbits.

The set of cookware, while apologizing for not ordering them the first time, then fire irons, and, most recently, new hinges to replace the old on a box. He had also come by a few times to ask about locks and hinges on his smial, as the Hobbit burrows were called, and Thorin has made some noises about coming up to look.

He does not treat Master Baggins very civilly, and over charges him, but his fury towards Master Baggins is starting to be cooled by his guilt.

Mostly because the every time Master Baggins comes and Thorin treats him barely civilly (abominably, if he’s being honest), he just smiles and treats Thorin far more respectfully than any Man and, in many ways, the Hobbits (most of which treat him like a second class citizen they must deal with) have ever treated him. The guilt, however, is partially kept at bay by the fact there must be a reason, a good one, for Master Baggins to be so disliked.

Today, two Hobbit women (married) are tittering about Master Baggins once more while Thorin beats out gardening tools that have been ordered by Halfred Greenhand, who is going to give them to his son. “Oh, here comes Bilbo,” one of the women tittered as she held one of the skillets Thorin had made some months back (possibly, as that had been what she was doing the one time Thorin could take a quick break to look up and say he would be with them at lunch).

He would need to take a week off of gathering orders, soon, so he could catch up with the orders he already had, as well as replenish his pre-made stock. As such, with the workload he had, the return of Master Baggins did not bode well. “Wonder why he’s down here again,” the second Hobbit woman mused.

She was just there to be with her friend, as far as Thorin could tell, and he could easily hear them over the pounding of his hammer against the metal. “Oh, I am sure it is for…” the first woman began but was cut off by both women’s fits of giggles and the second going, “Oh, naughty Lima.”

He could have used his nephews, or Dwalin, in all of this, but they were needed back at the village. The village Thorin condemned them all to, and he barely manages to leash his temper as the women laugh and whisper too low for Thorin to hear.

He plunges the hot iron into the bucket of water and the steam hisses around him. “Good afternoon, Mistress Goodbody, Missus Smallburrow,” Master Baggins greets and Thorin wonders what the difference is, because as far as he can tell, it isn’t marriage.

In fact, Master Baggins is the only Hobbit he’s met so far, that’s not a child, that’s unmarried.

“Good afternoon Master Baggins,” the women stereo and soon they dissolve into chatter.

It seems the men in this town gossip as much as the women. “I am surprised to see you down here, Mistress Goodbody,” Master Baggins stated.

“Well, once Master Nothir is finished up, I shall be paying for this fine skillet,” the first woman, Mistress Goodbody, stated.

“Ah, yes, you did give your other skillet to your daughter, Myrtle, last week for her wedding, didn’t you Mistress Goodbody?” Master Baggins questioned.

“Quite. Perfect ‘welcome to wedded life’ present. Not that you need worry about that, correct Master Baggins?” Mistress Goodbody questioned as Thorin began to work on banking the fire so he could easily heat it up again after lunch.

Next time he came through here, he was bringing one of his relations that knew something about forging, or maybe just one of his nephews.

Fíli, as he was the elder, might be a good choice, but Dís was not likely to let him travel anytime soon. Besides, he had duties in the village that he could not be spared from because of being the elder.

“Quite,” Master Baggins responded, sounding…tight.

“And you Missus Smallburrow?” Master Baggins asked.

“Ah, just walkin’ with Mistress Goodbody. She’s got a bit of shopping to do, and I do what I can to help,” the second woman, Missus Smallburrow, responded.

“Well, as Mistress Goodbody just pointed out, I don’t need that kind of help, as my home will likely be shrinking soon, not growing,” Master Baggins answered and both women nervously tittered.

“What’s the basket for, Master Baggins?” Mistress Goodbody interrupted.

“Lunch,” Master Baggins answered and Thorin exited his forge.

He stared at the scene before him and wondered if, maybe, he should find a way to retreat back to his work and ‘forget’ about lunch. Despite the easy tones he had heard, it was obvious that they were not friends and, were they Dwarves, Thorin is sure he would have to be separating them. He resisted the urge to sigh and ducked back inside quickly to get the worst of the sweat off and to tug his overtunic back on, but forwent the belt.

Too hot.

He walked back out and found that, in his brief absence, Master Baggins had only grown tenser, and the two women were standing to the side, giving him a great deal of space.

“Mistress Goodbody?” he called.

“Ah, Master Nothir,” she greeted and hurried over to him with the skillet.

“How much?” she inquired.

“Two silver pennies,” Thorin answered and she nodded, quickly paying before she hurried off, Missus Smallburrow on her heels.

He then turned to Master Baggins and leaned against the doorway of his forge. “Master Baggins, to what do I owe the visit?” Thorin asked.

“Master Nothir, I was wondering if you could come up to my smial on your day off? I really do need those locks replaced,” Master Baggins stated and Thorin raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “It will be extra,” Thorin warned and Master Baggins gave a nod.

“I was hoping you would take this basket lunch as part of a down payment on my apology for working on your off day?” Master Baggins stated and Thorin was tempted to say ‘no’, but…

“Accepted, Master Baggins,” Thorin answered and Master Baggins smiled before, carefully, settling the basket on the bench next to the entry of the forge.

“Thank you,” Master Baggins answered and turned heading up the way, before he paused and turned back.

“Do…you know the way to Bag-End?” Bilbo questioned.

Thorin nodded and Master Baggins nodded. “See you Highday then,” Master Baggins stated and he continued up.

In watching Master Baggins go, however, Thorin remembered, with crystal clarity, how round the other Hobbits were and how Master Baggins…wasn’t.

“Odd,” Thorin muttered before he focused on his basket meal, wondering who had cooked it as he bit into the toasted sandwich.

* * *

Bilbo sighed as he walked back into his smial. “Bilbo?” Belladonna called.

“Yes Mama?” Bilbo answered as he walked to her bedroom, worried that his leaving for the past hour did something irreparable, but smiled in relief to find her sitting up against the headboard, reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose, ledger book on her lap.

“How did the meeting with that ‘bothersome, irksome, and _quite_ rude’ Dwarf go?” Belladonna greeted.

Bilbo made a face before he sat down next to her on the bed, easily following her tugs to rest against her shoulder, barely keeping back his wince at how _frail_ she felt under his head. “Quite well. He agreed to come up on his day off,” Bilbo responded.

“Oh and…did you cook for him?” Belladonna asked and Bilbo flushed, shifting to leave her, when she grabbed onto him with a giggle.

“Oh, you _did_! Do I foresee courting in your future?” she giggled and Bilbo flushed more, feeling his ears turn red.

“It isn’t like that Mother,” Bilbo stated and she let him go as he slid off her bed, heading to the fireplace to urge the fire warmer.

“And why ever not?” Belladonna demanded as Bilbo added another log.

“Because, Mother, who would ever want a boney little sapling of a Hobbit? Especially a Dwarf who probably has enough mouths to feed back at whatever mountain he lives in,” Bilbo stated as he stood to stare at the flames.

“Oh, nonsense! Anyone would be _happy_ to…” Belladonna began, only for Bilbo to interrupt her.

“No, Mama, they wouldn’t. As has been proved many times over by everyone I have ever met that is not family, and some family. And that includes that incorrigible, rude, and utterly _infuriating_ Dwarf.”

Silence fell between them at those words and Bilbo walked over to press a kiss to Belladonna’s forehead before he decided he would check on the Rooks.

* * *

Bilbo let out a surprised laugh as the Rooks rushed down to him and landed on every available space they could. Soon, Bilbo was coated with Rooks, who were doing their best to vie for the best position on his shoulders and, quite possibly, at the top of his head. He kept feeling something up there anyway.

“Ease up a bit. Does anyone have anything exciting to tell me? I figure you must, considering how you all mobbed me,” Bilbo greeted as the Rooks immediately began to babble at him.

“One at a time, dears, one at a time,” Bilbo murmured and soon the Rook on his head tugged at his hair with her claws until she had his attention.

“The Dwarf is interesting. He keeps trying to speak to us in a throaty language when we pass by, if he’s alone,” she stated, the Language of the Rooks grating, but soothing.

“Is it close to yours?” Bilbo questioned and at the questioning warble from some of the younger ones, Bilbo repeated the question in the Language of the Rooks, only to receive nods.

“A cousin’s, maybe, but not ours. Want us to learn it?” the female on Bilbo’s head asked.

“If you wish,” Bilbo answered and she let out a pleased sound before she flew off, causing Bilbo to wince slightly at that.

“Anything else?” he inquired, but the Rooks merely ignored the question, suggesting that was the only thing of note.

After a time, the Rooks flew off and only left the Elders to speak with Bilbo, who flew down now that their younger Rooks had gone back to the trees. However, instead of settling on Bilbo, they landed nearby and the oldest, one that would probably ‘disappear’ within the next few days, let out a long sigh. “There is one more thing,” she explained in Westron and Bilbo frowned.

“What is it Elder Thyme?” Bilbo questioned and the Elders shifted, sharing looks before they focused back on Bilbo.

“Peaseblossom Proudfoot is marrying Sadie Goodbody. They’re both Planters,” one of the other Rooks stated, also in Westron, and Bilbo felt his shoulders slump slightly.

“Oh…well, I’ll have to find something to send her,” he murmured.

“Why? She was an awful, money-grubbing,” one of the male Elder Rooks stated and Bilbo frowned at him while the other Rooks shushed him.

“It is the proper thing to do,” Bilbo stated and the male Elder huffed and puffed up in a way that suggested he would probably be inciting a few _actual_ mobbings on Peaseblossom soon.

“It’ll be bad enough that they won’t be able to give a very big party, I don’t think. At least, not if they want to keep Master Nothir from noticing, Elder Sage,” Elder Thyme scolded.

“Not necessarily. Sadie has always felt more comfortable in boy clothing. I think she was considering approaching her Head of the Family over that change, but I’m not sure. She could easily just prefer male clothing and not actually feel male. Sadie has always been a quiet sort, so it is hard to be sure,” Bilbo stated.

“We’ll know soon enough, once the invitation comes up,” Elder Thyme stated and Bilbo nodded, even as Elder Sage grumbled.

“I’m still organizing ribbon stealing,” Elder Sage stated and Elder Thyme let out a long suffering sigh before she flew over to where he was so they were nestled together.

Bilbo flushed a bit upon seeing them and looked away, as he always did when he saw happy couples. He would admit, if asked, that half of it was something akin to jealousy. Not entirely, because it didn’t have that dark taint jealously usually had.

Maybe longing for what they had and Bilbo bit back a long sigh, surprised when another one of the older Rooks landed on his shoulder. “Worry not, Bilbo,” she murmured gently, and Bilbo glanced over at her, remembering that she was Elder Briar, head tilted to the side slightly in confusion.

“You will find someone worthy of being with you,” Elder Briar stated.

“No one has that low of standards,” Bilbo murmured.

A comforting sound left Elder Briar’s throat and she began to run her beak through Bilbo’s hair. Bilbo’s eyes closed as she continued, comfort filling him at the actions, and she paused. “Wanting you is not a low standard. And the Hobbits here are idiots if they can’t see that,” Elder Briar murmured and Bilbo just shrugged his free shoulder before he slowly sat down on the ground as a gentle breeze picked up around them, ruffling the hair Elder Briar had just preened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably explain that the addresses come from Headcanon, not actual etiquette. In my headcanon, Hobbits address each other in various ways. “Master” and “Mistress” are for the Head of the Family and for the Head of the Family’s Spouse.
> 
> “Mister” and “Missus” are for those who are not the Head of the Family in the Family.
> 
> Hobbit tradition says the one who married into the family takes over as Head of the Family in the event the one who was already part of the family dies. Belladonna couldn’t take over as she was Fading and in no condition to do so.
> 
> Also, I have way too much fun with giving the Baggins Family Rooks, which are the cousins of Ravens. Like, distant cousins, in that they look alike. And yes, Thorin knows the Language of the Ravens, and keeps seeing them and just talking to them in that language on reflex, but only when alone.


	6. The Beginning of Fixing a Home

Thorin frowned as he made his way up to Bag-End to find _Master_ _Baggins_ waiting on the bench just behind the fence for him. As he came closer, he noticed that Master Baggins was twitchy and shifting slightly, though when his eyes rested on Thorin, he leapt up onto his feet and hurriedly opened the gate. “Master Nothir, I know I just asked for the locks, but I was wondering…could you look at the hinges? I’ll pay whatever you want, and more, if you do it as quietly as you can,” he greeted hurriedly, glancing worriedly back at Bag-End at his words.

Thorin frowned a bit. “I’ll be as quiet as can be, but I cannot guarantee it will be very quiet. Need silence to go over your ledgers Master Baggins?” Thorin responded, unable to stop the dig, though Bilbo was already shaking his head.

“No, no, nothing like that. Mother…Mother just needs to sleep right now, but if it can’t be helped, it can’t be helped,” Bilbo responded and Thorin managed to keep his surprise, and guilt, inside, though he was sure that, even if it had showed, Bilbo wouldn’t have noticed, eyeing the smial as he was.

“Where is she sleeping?” Thorin asked and Bilbo jumped a little at being addressed.

“Oh, on the east side, near the front,” Bilbo answered softly and Thorin nodded.

“I’ll start in the back then, and move to the front later, hopefully after she’s awake,” he answered and the relief deaged Bilbo by a dozen years, at least.

“Oh, thank you. I’ll show you around to the back,” Bilbo offered and immediately walked around to the left, Thorin following after him.

He glanced to the side when a black form shifted and he was surprised to see a young black bird perched on the fence, watching them with a tilt to the head. It looked like it was wearing puffed out trousers, and Bilbo huffed a bit before he flapped his hand half-heartedly at the bird, who seemed content to ignore the Hobbit as Bilbo rounded to the back door, which sent a flurry of black birds up into the air. They were not ravens, too small by anything, but they were a sight that comforted Thorin all the same, the black birds so close to the ones from home. “Why do they roost here?” Thorin asked, before he could stop himself.

“I think it is because they like me,” Bilbo answered softly and Thorin glanced at him to find Bilbo was staring up at the where the black birds were resettling on top of the smial.

Bilbo shook his head and then smiled at Thorin. “I’ll leave you be, Master Nothir. If you need anything don’t hesitate to walk around to the open window on the side we just walked around on,” Bilbo stated and walked away quickly, even as Thorin settled down to inspect the lock and hinges that made up the back door.

Later, he would ask Master Baggins to show him the secondary exit, but for now he focused on this door.

* * *

The back door was a pain.

It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, Thorin would admit that. He would love to meet the one who had made it, down to the hinges and the lock. The lock, however, was broken (horrifically so, as if someone had tried to break in the back way and failed, only managing to jam it), and the hinges were rusted shut. Going over all of it, he knew he would have to spend _weeks_ on this door alone to fix it, and he twitched slightly when he heard someone approaching.

“Master Nothir?” Bilbo called softly and Thorin hummed softly as he stood up to face the Hobbit, who looked hesitant to bother him.

“Mother is awake and she was wondering if you would like to join us for Elevensies,” Bilbo stated and Thorin blinked a bit.

“It is tea and scones, basically. Mother can’t…have much else, but I can make anything else you desire,” Bilbo offered softly, and Thorin shook his head.

“I’m afraid I must decline Master Baggins,” Thorin answered and Bilbo gave a smile before he nodded.

“Sorry to bother you Master Nothir. I’ll leave you to it. And I’ll leave the front door open a bit for you, when you get to the locks and hinges on the inside, and the front door,” Bilbo stated and quickly disappeared.

A few minutes later, Thorin was surprised when he heard voices coming from around the smial and soon found himself staring up at a frail, far too thin, Hobbit matron with hair a shocking silver mixed with brown leaning on Bilbo Baggins. “Master Nothir, I’m Belladonna Baggins. I hear you don’t want to join us for Elevensies,” she stated and Thorin suddenly felt like he was facing down his own mother and he was a Dwarfling all over again.

“I have work to do Mistress Baggins,” Thorin stated and she frowned at him.

“You can break for Elevensies. Pack up Master Nothir and come with us,” she ordered and Thorin obeyed even if a part of him rankled over taking orders.

As they moved to head back, Mistress Baggins seemed to collapse in on herself. With only the slightest hesitation, Bilbo suddenly picked his mother up, which had her protesting, though she didn’t actually move to get out of the young Master Baggins’s arms.

* * *

“Thank you for Elevensies,” Thorin stated as he set his napkin to the side and Belladonna waved him off.

“No trouble, no trouble,” she responded as Thorin stood and then she smiled in a way that reminded Thorin of his sister when she was plotting.

“You should really thank Bilbo. He’s really the cook in the family,” she added lightly and he turned to find Bilbo hunched over the sink slightly as he washed the dishes.

Thorin ducked his head slightly and stated, “Thank you, Master Baggins.”

“No trouble. Glad you enjoyed,” Bilbo answered, turning to face Thorin with a small smile before he focused back on the sink.

“How does the back door look, Master Nothir?” Belladonna questioned and Thorin looked over her.

“The locks will need to be replaced, as well as the hinges. It looks like someone tried to break in and failed,” Thorin answered.

“Oh someone did,” she stated lightly and ran her hands over her skirt before she fixed slightly.

“Has Bilbo shown you the door that’s on the other side of the Hill?” she inquired lightly.

“Not yet. I may have to come back another day,” Thorin stated.

“Oh, we wouldn’t mind having you over for Dinner, or even Tea…or Lunch,” she urged and Thorin felt as if he was being inspected.

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be very appropriate and I have other orders to attend to,” Thorin answered, not mentioning that he couldn’t do any of them as the forge was cold.

He would have to bring someone with him next time, as he was pretty sure that was the only way that he would get everything done he needed to get done. “Oh, well, in that case, see you next week?” she inquired.

“Two weeks. I’ll come up to replace the lock and hinges on the door you showed me and continue my inspection then Master Baggins, if that is acceptable,” Thorin answered and Bilbo turned at being addressed, nodding slightly.

“Perfectly. If you can’t come out in two weeks, I’ll understand. I am sorry for making you come here on your day off. Let me get your pay,” Bilbo answered as he dried his hands, walking out of the kitchen.

“Sorry about my son. He’s…quiet,” Belladonna stated and Thorin just ducked his head slightly, even as Bilbo returned.

“See you in two weeks, Master Nothir,” Master Baggins stated as he handed Thorin a bag of coin.

Thorin nodded and left. It was only when he got to the forge and counted the coins that he realized Bilbo had paid him more than previously agreed upon. While Thorin was angry, his pride hurt by the charity, and he set aside the extra coins, even if he knew while he was doing it that it was foolish, silently vowing to confront Master Baggins about it.

But later.

Right now, he had to focus on finding a way to get the money he had gotten so far to Dís, especially as no caravans, to his knowledge, were heading towards the Blue Mountains. If he had to leave now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back before the first snowfall, and he was already planning to leave sometime around the end of Halimath, plus he had jobs to finish.

He let out a low groan and let his head hang low.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he was going to have to come up with a solution soon, or he would lose all the standing he had garnered in this place and he highly doubted that he’d get it back if that happened.


	7. Writing Home

“A courier out to the Blue Mountains?” Halfred asked and Thorin nodded as he ate his meal at the Green Dragon.

The Hobbit gardener who worked for Master Baggins was one of the few Hobbits Thorin actually enjoyed talking to, for he reminded Thorin of the simple, no nonsense, older wiser Dwarves that had, wisely, left Erebor years before the problems had become problems worthy of notice to those less wise than them. He was also the only one Thorin felt he could trust with asking about a courier of some sort that could head to the Man’s village that was at the foot of the Blue Mountains.

Small, it was like Dale and took advantage of the Dwarven trade passing through, so they did not look down on the Dwarves that lived there, so long as they didn’t live in the actual village, but outside it. Thorin flexed his hand before he finished off the half-pint and debated getting another, even as Halfred sighed. “There’s only one I know who could get any message or package to the Blue Mountains quickly, but it will be hard to convince him. He treats his messengers like family, and loves them all dearly. He would be hard pressed to let them go into the unknown,” Halfred stated.

“I’ll pay him whatever he wants,” Thorin responded and Halfred gave him a look.

“We are not Men or Elves or even Dwarves, Master Nothir. We are Hobbits. Money means little to us and those that _do_ value money over good cheer and a warm meal are frowned upon and greatly disliked. Money could not sway him to put them into the unknown any more than money could sway _you_ to put those _you_ love into danger, I should hope,” Halfred answered and Thorin just gave a small nod.

“Now that I think on it, less sway. Bilbo…” Halfred continued, before he shut his mouth tight and Thorin tensed slightly.

Halfred frowned down at his mug, which was not even a quarter gone, and sighed. “You wouldn’t understand, of course, you are a Dwarf. But Bilbo is the only one who has anything close to a courier to get anything anywhere. You’ll have to present your own case to him, but I suggest doing so shortly after tea time, which is when Bilbo goes to visit them,” Halfred answered and Thorin felt ice curl through his stomach at the idea of having to go to _Master Baggins_ and ask for a courier.

“Who are they?” Thorin asked after some time and Halfred sighed, before he gave a small smile.

“You’ll see,” Halfred answered.

* * *

Bilbo frowned when his doorbell rang throughout the smial and looked up from his ledger. He sighed softly and set the quill into the spot meant for it next to the ink well, even as the bell was rung again. “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he called and left the ledger open as he slid off his seat, heading for the front door.

He opened it, mentally readying himself to argue with whatever relative had come up for whatever reason, only for his words to freeze in his throat to find Nothir standing there, eyes unreadable, hair a wild mess of a mane. After a few moments of strained silence, Bilbo managed to thaw his words. “Master Nothir, is there anything I can help you with?” he inquired softly, hesitant to speak when he knew the Dwarf did not like him.

That there was no reason for him to be here when he said he would not return for another two weeks, and Bilbo was wishing he hadn’t spoken when the Dwarf only seemed to glower in him. Bilbo was about to apologize when Master Nothir spoke.

“I am in the need of your couriers.”

Bilbo blinked in surprise, his brain stuttering to a halt, before he found himself nodding, ducking back into his smial to grab his coat and tell his mother he was heading out before he stepped out, shutting the door firmly behind him. “Come on, Master Nothir. We must get to the meeting place,” Bilbo stated as he walked.

He hadn’t been walking long before the heavy tread of Nothir caught up with him.

* * *

Thorin stared in surprise as he watched the strange black birds that looked exactly like small ravens wearing funny trousers landed around Master Baggins. The walk had been quick and away from Bag-End, but not too far, instead coming to rest at the clearing near one of the walled off fields.

“These are the Baggins’s Family Rooks, the only ones within the Shire, right now, who know the safest way to anyplace on the Baggins’s Family Trade Route, which is from the Elves at the port city to Rivendell and every spot in between. So long as it is on this side of the Misty Mountains, they can find it,” Bilbo explained as the Rooks fluffed and fluttered around him, one settling on his head while others settled on his shoulders and the rest all landed as close as they could to Master Baggins.

Through it all, Bilbo was just smiling softly at them, the Rooks jostling each other to preen his hair while they practically screamed at him in their language as opposed to Westron. Bilbo just smiled and, when one Rook had to flap his wings to keep on Bilbo’s shoulder, laughed as the wing brushed against ear. “What do you need them to deliver and to where?” Bilbo asked as he turned to Thorin, that soft, gentle, smile still on his face and his eyes…

Thorin was staring for a bit longer, in time to watch his eyes, so bright and full of life slowly dim and the smile to slide away. “Letter. Letter and a bag of coins, but I don’t know if it is too heavy or not,” Thorin explained and Master Baggins nodded.

“Who do you need it sent to in the Blue Mountains?” Master Baggins asked.

“No. Man’s village, at the foot. My…brother-in-arms, Dwalin. He’s doing some forge work there for trading purposes,” Thorin answered and Master Baggins frowned a bit.

“I need a Rook who knows Westron to carry a letter and find Dwalin,” Master Baggins stated and he sighed as the Rook on his head pull at his hair with his talons.

“You don’t like talking Westron, you can’t go,” he retorted and the Rooks suddenly scattered with a cry as another Rook flew out, landing on his shoulder.

“I will carry the Dwarf’s letter,” the Rook stated, eyeing Thorin as if he were a particularly annoying pest he had to deal with.

“Behave Basil,” Bilbo murmured and he carefully lifted a hand to the Rook, who was happy to step down onto his offered hand.

“How would two extra Rooks be to carry the bag?” Bilbo asked as he turned to Thorin, the hand with the Rook closer to Thorin, which almost had Thorin stepping back.

He was hesitant to allow “Basil” near _any_ part of his body, especially as the Rook looked like he wanted to jab his beak into Thorin’s flesh.

“That would be…fine,” Thorin answered and Bilbo pet the Rook, Basil, who practically preened under Bilbo’s attention.

“All right, let’s get Basil set up and find two Rooks to carry your coin bag,” Bilbo stated and Thorin twitched.

Bilbo made a sound and settled Basil on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Master Nothir. My Rooks will keep your coin bag safe, I promise,” Bilbo stated and Thorin found himself believing the Hobbit, even though he had no reason to.

Two hours later, Basil with a special canister strapped to his back to hold the letter and two slightly larger than average Rooks carrying his coin bag. All three had looked like they wanted to gouge out his eyes, so Thorin let Bilbo handle them, something the Master of Bag-End did with ease and soon all three had taken off into the late afternoon sky.

“You’ll have a reply within the month Master Nothir,” Bilbo stated and Thorin nodded.

“See you in two weeks, Master Baggins,” Thorin stated and quickly walked away.

Bilbo silently watched him go, the Rooks frighteningly silent as the Dwarf smith walked away.


	8. Word of Home

It had been almost an entire Hobbit month since Thorin had sent the bag of coins and a message to Dís. During those twenty days, Thorin had learned a great deal about Hobbit festivals and how seriously they took Midyear’s Day, as they refused to let him warm up the forge, somehow, on that day.

Today was his day off, which meant he would be hiking up to Bag-End later that morning, and so was taking the time now to take care of the ponies when a haggard Rook, one Thorin recognized as Basil, flew close enough to almost smack him in the head with his wing and perched on the top rail of the pen. Thorin frowned a bit at the Rook, only to realize there was a message in that special carrier on his back.

Thorin let out a long sigh when he saw that. The sigh had Basil shifting his head slightly to look at Thorin in a manner that Thorin thought was one only unsavory creatures could create. It was with that knowledge that Thorin strode over to where the Rook waited, trying to encourage the Rook to let him close.

The minute his hand was within distance of Basil, however, the Rook screamed at him, beat his wings and went for said hand with the sharp beak. Thorin cursed as his hand was hit, though not enough to actually gouge a, noticeable, part out of his hand, and _then_ Basil landed on his hand, digging sharp claws in, causing more blood to well up from Thorin’s skin. “Mahal curse it, what did I ever do to you?” Thorin growled as he fished the missive out of the carrier.

Basil merely screamed again and took off leaving Thorin with a bleeding mess of a hand. He let out a soft curse and walked to his room behind the forge, placing the missive on the table before he walked to his medical box. With careful hands, he cleaned out the cuts and minor gouges before he bandaged his hand properly. Once reassured that he could still use it effectively, he returned to the table and opened the small missive, smiling at the Cirth written in the familiar hand.

Tidings of health and happiness started it off, before it went into the business of the village Thorin had condemned them to (which wiped the smile from his face). Shortly after the business was reported (good crops, more commissions), Dís wrote how Fíli’s skill as a blacksmith had grown to the point where Dwalin would start teaching him how to work as a weapons smith and Kíli was starting to get more extravagant commissions from Elves at the bay only a day’s journey from the village.

While the mention of Elves had Thorin tugging at his unbraided mess of hair, unable to run his fingers through it due to his lack of care of it, he still smiled. Kíli had a skill for detail work that was wasted on having to make bulk items, but blossomed whenever he crafted jewelry or decorative pieces for the Mayor of the Man’s village they lived in, both of which were mentioned by Dís in her letter.

She ended it with thanks for the coin, a reminder that she would pin him to the floor of the house they lived in to work out the matted mess his hair had become once he got back to the village, and her love.

He smiled a bit at that and then tossed the letter into the fire. With a sigh, he rubbed his hand over his hair, and stood up, grabbing the necessities for fixing Master Baggins’s doors, and stepped out of the room. With that, he began the long trek up to Bag-End.

* * *

“Master Nothir,” Bilbo greeted warmly as Thorin stepped into view, though Thorin stopped short of touching the gate when he saw that Bilbo had Basil perched on his thigh.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin answered, though he did not reach for the gate.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at that and then glanced at the Rook perched on his thigh and then he looked back up at Thorin. Then his eyes fell to the bandage and he sighed. “Basil, off,” he ordered and the Rook cried before he took off, Bilbo wincing slightly at that.

He then stood up and brushed off himself off as Thorin opened the gate. “Mistress Baggins said something about a back door the last time I was here,” Thorin stated as he settled at the front door.

“Yes. It is a fair hike over the Hill to it, as the door rusted shut a little over a decade ago,” Bilbo explained as Thorin continued to work on the door.

“Very well,” Thorin stated and he heard Master Baggins sit back down on his bench.

“Will you join Mother and me for Lunch, Master Nothir?” Master Baggins asked as Thorin carefully shifted the door so it rested in the doorframe so he could replace the hinges.

“I think it would be best if I didn’t,” Thorin answered without looking back at Master Baggins.

“All right then,” Bilbo responded softly and then there was a sound of a wood desk being shifted, which had Thorin glancing over his shoulder to find that Bilbo had settled a lap desk on his lap.

It was obviously old, and well loved, though the varnish was…off in some places, as if someone had varnished it improperly and someone else had gone in afterwards to fix it as best they could. Thorin watched as Bilbo shifted the lap desk a few times, before he removed the cap from the ink well and picked up the quill. With that, Bilbo opened up the ledger and soon the sound of a quill scratching on paper filled the air.

Thorin watched the Hobbit for a while longer, watched how Bilbo carefully wrote with the quill in his left hand. It was only when Bilbo looked over at him cautiously, peering up from behind his curly hair that Thorin focused back on the door. He soon had the hinges off and frowned at the hinges. “What was done with these?” Thorin asked.

“They…got damaged. Somehow,” Master Baggins answered lightly.

Thorin resisted the urge to snort or snap about how that was obvious, instead focusing on carefully setting the new hinges into place. The old hinges he made sure made it into his bag, as he could use them for scrap metal, melt them down and use them for something else.

Something useful.

Unless the metal was shoddy, and then it would just be a waste of time. He then focused on the lock and stared at the setup. “How does this work?” Thorin muttered.

“Turning the key while turning the doorknob lifts the mechanism the slides up the lock,” Bilbo answered and Thorin looked over to find Bilbo was still writing.

Thorin turned back to the door and resisted the urge to let out a low whistle. “I would love to meet the one who made it,” Thorin murmured.

“He died, but I have his notes on how to make it, if you would like them,” Bilbo responded in a strained voice and Thorin looked back over at him to find that Bilbo has paused in writing.

His quill was poised over the ink well and he was staring at the pages on his lap desk. At some point a Rook had settled on the back rest of the bench and was watching them with an air of calmness that Thorin wasn’t used to from the odd black birds, especially concerning him. Thorin watched as Master Baggins dipped the quill in the ink well and carefully twitched off the excess before he continued writing.

“Why would you have his notes?” Thorin questioned.

Master Baggins twitched and focused on his writing briefly before he answered, softly, “Because it was my father’s design.”

Thorin felt as if the air was removed from his lungs and he quickly focused on the lock, not seeing any need to repair it, but focusing on it anyway. He could taste the feeling of loss on his tongue, despite everything, and he could see, all too clearly, how this could have been him if his father had fallen in the Battle of Azanulbizar. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Thorin answered softly.

There was silence, heavy and unsure, and a soft murmur that was an understanding, as well as acceptance, of the condolences. Thorin just carefully began to reset the door into the doorframe, gently setting the hinges against the doorframe. Soon, the green door was back in its proper place, and carefully made sure that it was moving smoothly, already seeing a visible difference in the way the door moved on new hinges.

“The back door?” Thorin asked as he turned to face Bilbo, in time to see him rapidly look back down at the lap desk, as if he had been watching Thorin instead of working.

The Rook had moved to his shoulder at this point and Bilbo nodded a bit. “Oh, yes, in a bit. I have to…get my bag and we’ll head over the Hill,” Bilbo answered and carefully put everything away on the lap desk before he picked it up, the Rook shifting on his shoulder, adjusting with each of Bilbo’s shifts.

He then stepped inside, setting the lap desk down on the trunk in the front hallway and walking into a room. Voices, soft and gentle, threaded through the air, and then Bilbo stepped back out, a bag over his free shoulder. “Ready?” Bilbo asked and Thorin nodded once.

Bilbo smiled then, a tiny thing, and nodded. “Good,” Bilbo answered and he walked to the front door, the door closing with a soft thump as the lock slid home.


	9. Healing Heart

Thorin stared at the rusted shut door, wondering how it had gotten into this condition. The wood had cracked around the rusted metal decoration that had been pressed into the wood and the metal itself looked like it would crumble if he touched it. This door needed to be completely replaced and there was no way he could replace those careful metal designs that curled across the wood.

Unsure of how to explain this to Master Baggins, he turned to face the Hobbit, his name on the tip of Thorin’s tongue, but the name got stuck in his throat along with his breath.

Bilbo had walked down to the trees that rested out of sight from the front of the smial and, while Thorin had been pretty sure the trees had been empty when he had topped the Hill with Bilbo earlier, they were now _filled_ with Rooks. They were relatively quiet and Bilbo was sitting on the ground, the sun shining on his hair making look like spun copper and gold, the small bag that had been on his shoulder now set to the side as he carefully coaxed a Rook into his arms.

The Rook’s wing was at an odd angle and moved as if in obvious pain, each movement hesitant. “Come along now, darling, let me look at you,” Bilbo cooed softly, as he reached for the Rook.

It screeched loudly and tried to get away, but an older Rook called back and dropped down, cutting his retreat off. The Rook cried and flapped its undamaged wing as Bilbo reached for the Rook again. As Bilbo carefully picked the Rook up, it thrashed and cried, even as Bilbo murmured soothingly at him, in the throaty language that was _almost_ like home and…

Thorin shook himself all over and frowned. “Master Baggins?” Thorin called softly as Bilbo slowly stood up, still cooing softly at the Rook in his arms, the bag still on the grass where he left it.

“Yes?” Master Baggins acknowledged while still looking down at the still screeching Rook in his arms.

“The door needs to be completely replaced, as it is starting to crack around the metal designs. I can’t…replace the hinges to a door that will fall apart around them,” he stated and Thorin watched how Bilbo seemed to deflate, his shoulders dropping and somehow, someway, become so much smaller than he was.

“Oh…I see. Yes…well, I’ll…I’ll look into getting a new door made and I’ll…I’ll send a message down, when the new door’s been made, if that is all right,” Bilbo answered softly as he looked up, the panting Rook cradled close to his chest in a manner that kept the Rook relatively out of pain.

Thorin stared at him, wondering where this part of Bilbo had been hiding the entire time, as Bilbo smiled weakly up at him. “Thank you, Master Nothir. Um…could you please pick up my bag? This one, Marigold, tangled with one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs, which is how she broke her leg and she broke her wing by being stubborn and not getting herself looked at right away,” Bilbo stated and Thorin nodded once before he walked over and picked up Bilbo’s bag.

“How was she stubborn?” Thorin asked as he walked back to Bilbo, carefully shouldering Bilbo’s bag on his shoulder.

“Oh, she fell off her perch, which is what happens when they have broken legs, and they really only break their legs break when they are caught by one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs they’ve been taunting. Usually,” Bilbo answered as he focused back on the Rook in his arms.

Thorin nodded in understanding as he remembered when the Ravens of Erebor would taunt caravan guard dogs and get injured for it. As they began to hike back over the Hill, Bilbo sighed and gave the Rook in his arms a sharp look, oblivious to when Thorin carefully guided him around a slight ditch that he almost stumbled in. “You know, when I was told about an injured Rook, I thought that it had meant a scrape or a minor injury, not _two_ breaks, its a new record” Bilbo scolded the Rook softly and the Rook let out an offended sound.

Thorin looked away slightly to hide his smile as he walked quietly behind Bilbo the entire time and, when Belladonna cornered him about Lunch, he couldn’t find the ability to say no.

* * *

_**You are Cordially Invited to the Coming of Age Birthday Party of…** _

_**Bilbo Baggins, Head of the Baggins Family** _

_**The Party begins at the 22 nd ** _ **** _**of Halimath, at dusk** _

_**Please R.S.V.P. at earliest convenience** _

Thorin stared down at the invitation, feeling as if his world had stopped spinning and he was now about to be sent flying. He frowned and slowly folded the invitation closed, and then opened it again to read it once more before he closed it for the final time. He closed his eyes as he leaned against his table as he dropped the invitation onto the table.

He had been rude and discourteous to a _child_. Not a very young child, but a child all the same. Had he a beard, he would cut it off in shame for treating a child in such a way, except…

There had been no hint that Bilbo Baggins was not an adult. The Halfling had not only acted like an adult, Bilbo Baggins had been treated like an adult by all the Hobbits in the area. Despite the evidence that was on his table, there was no way Thorin could have known that Bilbo was a minor.

A minor who held a position of power and, quite possibly, some respect and Thorin had treated him as a spoiled child treats an adult. He frowned a bit at that thought and ran his hand over his face before he looked back down at the invitation, deciding to say he would not be coming, when he saw noticed that there was writing on the back.

_Master Nothir, please attend or I am afraid I will be greatly disappointed in you._

_Belladonna Baggins_

Thorin chuckled at that, even as he desperately hoped Mistress Belladonna Baggins never met Dís, for the elder hobbit reminded him so much of his sister. The reminder of his sister, after so many months without seeing her and being unable to truly make sure she was okay, he couldn’t help but wonder if his sister was as okay as she had implied in her letter. With a sigh, he removed himself from those thoughts.

He would know himself soon enough as, after the Coming of Age Party, he was leaving the Shire for the winter and hoping he would be welcomed back come the spring.

* * *

“You did _what_?” Bilbo squeaked as he placed a tray of food over his mother’s lap.

Belladonna didn’t bother to bite back her girlish giggles over the fact Bilbo looked so flustered over the knowledge Master Nothir had received an invitation. He was so adorable when he got that way, reminding Belladonna of his younger, more innocent, years when he had so much hope for the future.

“I invited the nice looking blacksmith who has been coming around on his day off to your Coming of Age party in a couple of weeks, especially as he will be leaving right after and it would be most discourteous to leave him out of the loop,” Belladonna answered brightly.

“Mother, he doesn’t know our customs! What if he takes the gifts as an insult?” Bilbo exclaimed, his hands fluttering in front of him in the same way his father’s hands had when he worried over another’s welfare, but was unsure of how to approach it.

“Well, then explain it, before the party,” Belladonna responded calmly as she settled more against her pillows.

“Mother, I cannot leave you alone to hike all the way down to the forge to explain our customs to a Dwarf!” Bilbo responded and Belladonna sat up, feeling the frown pull at her skin, eyes narrowed dangerously at her son, who tensed but did not back off.

“Then do it because I want to have a strong handsome Dwarf carry me back home at the end of the party,” Belladonna retorted as she settled back, letting it go.

She’d scold her son later for his choice of words later. For now, she would, internally, cackle over the fact that she had caused her beloved son to blush so hard, his ears were glowing.

“Stop cackling, you sound like a witch from a fairy tale,” Bilbo grumbled.

Maybe not so internally.

Oh well.

* * *

_Dear Mistress Baggins,_

_I will happily attend._

_Master Nothir_


	10. The Building of a Home

Bilbo could hear the clanging of Nothir at work as he hovered outside of the forge, wringing his hands as he tried to gather the courage to step inside. Really, he could just give a quick rundown or talk to Master Nothir on his day off or anything but coming down towards the end of the working day to talk with him.

He had been hovering for the past hour now, sure he had started seven separate rumors with said hovering, and probably would have turned around and gone back home at this point if it wasn’t for the reason he was here. Because he was here to ensure that Master Nothir would not be singled out or make faux-pas and be mocked by the crueler (usual) Hobbits. That he would enjoy the party and make it through leaving only good rumors behind him.

Bilbo was here so that Master Nothir would be invited to other parties. So that the only whispers that would follow the blacksmith around would be about the fact he was a Dwarf, not for his lack of manners or understanding of their culture. He was here to help Master Nothir. He was there to make sure that Master Nothir would be respected and not belittled for his lack of knowledge.

With a shaky sigh, Bilbo stepped into the doorway and was swamped in shadow.

Hovering at the doorway the clanging was all the louder within the small space and Bilbo was effectively blind. He continued to blink until his eyes managed to adjust to the gloom and the moment they had, it is only his great strength of will that keeps him from making a very improper sound.

Nothir was _very_ aesthetically pleasing, something Bilbo was sure even half-blind Mistress Bolger who had only seen Nothir once knew. The fact he was so aesthetically pleasing is something that Bilbo had more than a few improper thoughts about from time to time.

Sometimes, Nothir was even more than _just_ aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes, when he was actually pleasant, Bilbo had stupid foolish daydreams, like the ones he had had about Lily Chubb and Rudigar Goodchild (both of which had ended in disaster when he tried to court them) that involved a life together. A life filled with moments that were just everyday things like those he had seen with his parents, which he knew he’d never get.

But right now, _now_ , in the dark of the forge, with the light of the forge and hot metal framing him slightly, was something else entirely. The tunic clung to Nothir’s torso, the sleeves rolled up to show flexing arms. Each time his hammer came down, his back under the clinging tunic seemed to _ripple_.

Bilbo could feel himself panting and he wasn’t entirely sure if the heat he was feeling was from the forge or just him, because he was sure his nerve endings had just been set alight. He shivered a bit and bit back some very improper sounds (though he wasn’t sure he could actually articulate them considering his mouth and throat were still so very dry) when Nothir twisted slightly, the glowing metal making his face glow, his mass of hair pulled back into a pony’s tail, and then plunged the shining metal into a bucket.

Bilbo jumped at the sizzling hiss and knew he was flushing as he felt the heat under his skin. What had he just been doing?

He had been… _ogling_ the blacksmith!

He swallowed pointedly, trying to get his body back under control before he stepped back slightly and knocked on the doorframe. “I’m not taking commissions today,” Master Nothir stated.

“I’m…not here for a commission, Master Nothir, but I do need to speak to you, if I may,” Bilbo explained and started slightly when Nothir turned to face him, a pony shoe clasped in the tongs.

Bilbo forced his eyes to drag up to Nothir’s face as he wrapped his arms around his middle, the action sharply reminding him why he would never see those daydreams come true, his arms tightening slightly. Master Nothir turned from Bilbo then and there was the soft clang of the pony shoe being set down. “What is it you wished to speak of Master Baggins?” Master Nothir questioned as he reached for another piece of metal in the gloom, his back tensed under his tunic.

“I realized after the invitations had been sent out, that you didn’t know much, if anything, about Hobbit culture, which was, admittedly, very short-sighted of both myself and my mother,” Bilbo began, only to stutter to a halt as he remembered he was talking to a Dwarf.

Dwarves, from what little he knew, were a proud people and did not take kindly to being underestimated or short-changed. Bilbo swallowed harshly at the thought as he began to shift from foot to foot, that feeling of skittering up and down his nerves filling his being. “And, I was…I was…hoping, well not hoping, but wondering, really, not even wondering, not truly, but that seems close enough, so wondering, if it were at all possible, if you had the time or need, or…anything, really of that sort in the manner…if you wished to…” Bilbo stuttered out as his eyes slowly fell away from Nothir’s back and to the floor, unsure of how to word his question.

He stuttered and restarted a few more times, trying to broach the idea of teaching him Hobbit culture and courtesy, the clanging of hammer striking metal a background to his lack of anything worthwhile. He jumped out of his skin, head snapping up to Nothir when there was a particularly loud clang that echoed through the forge. “Speak your piece _plainly_ , Master Baggins, or get out!” Nothir demanded.

“I was wondering if you would like to learn about Hobbit culture from me,” Bilbo blurted out and immediately covered his face with one hand, his other arm hugging himself around his waist all the tighter.

There was silence, deafening in the wake of the clanging and Nothir’s loud voice. After some time, the silence was broken by the hissing of hot metal being placed in the water bucket. “Why?” Nothir demanded and Bilbo looked at him, his hand falling from his face as he wrapped his arm back around himself.

“Because Hobbit ways are not Dwarf ways, and something that is proper for Hobbits might not be proper for Dwarves and if I can stop those problems before they start, I would like to,” Bilbo answered as honestly as he could.

He wouldn’t explain everything. He couldn’t. How did he explain to another how the Shire could be when they were on the outside looking in?

He stared at Nothir as the Dwarf smith walked toward Bilbo. He felt his shoulders lift slightly and did a full body flinch as the metal clattered down and across others. “Let me clean up in here first,” Nothir stated and Bilbo nodded weakly.

“Of course,” Bilbo answered softly and quickly walked out of the forge.

* * *

Thorin resisted the urge to sigh as he watched Master Baggins fidget in front of the pony pen in the light of the setting sun. It was catching his hair, giving it further depth within the curls, like the soft shimmer of gold leafing to accent the colors of a painting. He frowned at his thought process, which only made Master Baggins’s fidgeting _worse_ , and Thorin sighed then.

“You said something about…learning Hobbit culture to prevent misunderstandings?” Thorin asked and Bilbo nodded, curls bouncing with each nod, falling into his hazel eyes and…

Thorin frowned deeper. “Yes, yes, quite, naturally. Prevent a great deal of misunderstandings, so no one yells at you or throws a drink in your face or anything of the sort, because well…that would ruin the party for you, wouldn’t it, and that’s just…not good, not good at all. Very bad, truly, Hobbits pride themselves on being good, if not fantastic, hosts, and the worst insult that you can give a Hobbit, besides ‘soft-soled’ is…just…don’t do that. Calling someone a poor host is enough to start a bit of arguing in the street. Soft-soled is a declaration of war,” Bilbo rambled and Thorin resisted the urge to smile over it.

How he flushed, his shoulders twitching and his hands twisting around each other in front of him. Even the way he shifted from foot to foot. “Lessons, Master Baggins?” Thorin reminded him sharply and Bilbo jumped.

“Right, yes, of course, whenever you are free, really. I just spend most of my time…shifting things and what have you. Nothing drastically important, though all of the caravans and traders would say otherwise, but that is neither here nor there in this situation, not really, but just…whenever is good for you,” Bilbo explained, slowly trailing off till he fell silent.

“How about this Highday?” Thorin questioned lightly and Bilbo nodded.

“Perfect. Should be enough time to give a rundown of culture and manners and such. Not that you don’t have manners, you have lovely manners, just…Hobbit manners,” Bilbo rambled before he audiably quieted himself with a sharp click of his teeth as his jaw snapped closed.

“I’m sorry, Master Nothir, but I must be going. Good evening,” Bilbo recited and then he was gone, speed walking away, up towards Bag-End.

Thorin watched him go for a time before he shook his head and headed toward the room behind the forge. He wanted to get clean before he headed down to the Green Dragon for dinner.


	11. The Heart's Choice

Bilbo resisted the urge to laugh at the disgruntled look on Nothir’s face as he carefully talked him through small talk. “What is the purpose of this?” he asked and Bilbo couldn’t stop the smile.

“So you can hold a conversation till whoever you are talking to goes off to bother a relative. You can talk about the food, which will be excellent, and if that fails, you can remark on the decorations without it sounding forced. The first allows you to slip into asking if they made anything, the second if they created anything for the party. Both work for donated, but everyone will prefer if you ‘assume’ they made something for the party, or their family did, like one of the Chubb relatives is donating a few selections of the Chubb Ale to the party,” Bilbo explained as he wondered if Nothir would object to him trying to shift his body language so that he wasn’t so…imposing.

Bilbo bit back his smile as Nothir heaved out a heavy sigh and glared at him. “Chubb?” Nothir asked.

“The Chubb relations are my youngest uncle’s in-laws. Grubb, my various first cousins once removed and other such things due to the fact my grandmother was a Grubb, the Sackville-Baggins are, unfortunately, my Aunt and Uncle and first cousins, the Proudfoot family members are mostly the same, as well as in-laws, and Boldger is all over the place. And that’s just my immediate relations on my father’s side. My mother is the eldest of three daughters, and the eighth of twelve. Of all eleven siblings, only two were never married. So, all of _their_ families and _their_ in-laws and relations will be coming, so you’ll definitely need the small talk. If you are lucky, you’ll be cornered by Tooks or Brandybucks and you can talk about anything but the food or the weather or the decorations,” Bilbo answered, barely managing to keep his laughter out of his voice as Nothir stared at him with wide eyes.

“How did your grandparents manage such a feat?” Nothir asked and Bilbo let out a small chuckle.

“Oh, Hobbits don’t have just one chi-…“ Bilbo began to respond, only to cut himself off sharply.

“One what?” Nothir asked and Bilbo immediately focused on his ‘lesson plan’ that resided on Master Nothir’s desk.

“Right, we should practice small talk,” Bilbo stated and settled on the chair, smiling up at Nothir, feeling his cheeks already hurting with how fake the smile was.

“Lovely weather, today, isn't it?” Bilbo asked.

“It is always lovely weather in the Shire,” Nothir responded.

“Nothir,” Bilbo stated and Nothir sighed softly.

“Yes, the weather is lovely,” Nothir muttered.

“I think this has been the mildest autumn the Shire has ever seen. Do you think that means a short winter?” Bilbo continued.

“I am sure the winters are always short in the Shire,” Nothir responded and Bilbo twitched, remembering the cold that bit at his very soul and the way the blood drenched the snow, staining it forever in Bilbo’s mind.

“Don’t bring up…always having short winters. It would probably be best to just agree that the mild autumn will mean a short winter and go on to asking about spring. Winter is a…touchy subject in the Shire,” Bilbo corrected softly as he stared at the lesson plan.

“I’ll remember that,” Nothir answered.

“Wonderful. Well, we have small talk covered, and you won’t need to worrying about the dancing,” Bilbo stated.

“And why not?” Nothir practically growled.

“Well, unless you wish to go barefoot and wear silver bells around your ankles, I don’t think you will be dancing, as wearing bells is a requirement for that,” Bilbo answered and Nothir stared.

“I am not going to be barefoot,” Nothir responded and Bilbo smiled a bit as he looked it over again.

“Right, um…getting food. There will be a long table to pick up a plate and a mug. Just go to the long table after it and there will be all sorts of food that doesn’t really need silverware to eat, which is the highlight of these parties, really. That starts at the beginning of the party to right before the speech, which I really wish I didn’t have to do. Shortly before the speech, you’ll see everyone going to their family tables, and you’ll be sitting with Mother, and it is considered rude to eat during all the speech making. After the speech _es_ are made, the birthday cake will be served, and then there is more partying and drinking and eating and dancing, but it is after the speeches that anyone can leave without insulting anyone. And everything gets taken down tomorrow, after everyone wakes up in the field,” Bilbo explained and Nothir made a sound that Bilbo took that he understood what was being explained.

“Why am I sitting with your mother?” Nothir asked.

“Because she insisted on it and I know better than to oppose my mother,” Bilbo responded brightly as he went over the lesson plan.

He tapped the paper and nodded a bit. “You should be fine. If you have a pipe, you can light it during the speeches, but you’ll probably be too busy before and after to light it any other time. If you have one,” Bilbo explained and he sighed.

“I think that’s…oh. And Hobbits give away gifts on their birthdays,” Bilbo stated.

“What?” Nothir demanded, voice as hard as iron.

Bilbo looked up at him and one eyebrow rose at how furious Nothir looked. “Hobbits give away gifts on their birthday. There is a story, an old one, from when we used to accept gifts. One day, a Hobbit killed his cousin and best friend over a present and we’ve given them away since,” Bilbo explained calmly and watched as Nothir’s shoulders dropped.

Bilbo looked back down at the paper and nodded before he folded it up. “That’s it, really. Hobbit parties just have a few traditions that everyone follows, but mostly is just an excuse to eat, dance, and drink a great deal,” Bilbo explained as he settled the folded paper on Nothir’s desk.

He looked up at Nothir and gave a smile. “Good afternoon, Master Nothir,” Bilbo stated.

“Good afternoon, Master Baggins,” Nothir answered.

Bilbo gave a nod and headed toward the door. His hand had just settled on the knob when Nothir asked, “What sort of dances would there be a Hobbit parties?”

Bilbo stopped dead as his ears heated up and he turned to face Nothir. “Ones Hobbits learn from childhood. I would be happy to teach you, if you change your mind,” Bilbo answered and Nothir nodded.

“If I change my mind,” Nothir agreed and Bilbo felt his cheeks heat up slightly as he looked away from Nothir.

“Good afternoon Master Nothir,” Bilbo stated and quickly left, walking away from the forge.

As he walked through Hobbiton’s market, he pretended that he couldn't hear the whispers and he was proud of himself when he didn't lengthen his stride to escape them faster. When he got to Bag-End, he was torn between just running to the Rooks, to hide amongst the flock and take comfort in their acceptance or to head inside to his duties.

After a few moments of painful indecision, Bilbo headed inside and back to his duties. The few hours with Master Nothir and teaching him a bit about Hobbit culture would be enough of an escape.

It would have to be.

* * *

Thorin checked on the ponies shortly after Bilbo left, glad to see that the light exercise he gave them in hauling the larger commissions with the borrowed cart and an abundance of time to just be ponies, they were healthier than ever. Once reassured of their health, he retreated down the river a ways from the forge till he came to a calm spot in the river, the bank littered with smooth rocks.

He knelt down with a frown, letting his fingers trail through the rocks. After some time, he began to pick up rocks, weighing them in turn. Some were dropped to the side, but others he slid into the purse on his belt before he stood up with the latest choice.

For a few moments, he just stared out across the water, taking deep breathes. In one inhale, he pulled his arm back and, on the exhale, he swung his arm forward flicking his wrist at the end to send the rock skipping across the water.

Four skips.

What had _possessed him_ to ask that question?

Readying another rock from the heavy pouch at his hip, he repeated the process.

He had asked the Hobbit about dances, practically _throwing himself_ at the Hobbit! As if he was going to…court him.

The rock sunk into the water instead of skipping and Thorin scrubbed his hand over his face. Bilbo, he would admit, was…pleasing, for a Hobbit. Even if, compared to the other Hobbits, he stood out like new guard in training amongst the veterans, he was pleasing. Thorin wondered when his marriage would be announced, for there was no reason, beyond a bit of entitlement (which Thorin figured was shared by all Hobbits of Master Baggins’s class), that Thorin could see for Bilbo to remain a bachelor. Unless he didn't wish to get married, like about a third of the Dwarven population for one reason or another.

With a rough sigh, he flicked his wrist, and the rock went skipping across the water.

Three skips.

He sighed deeply and fished another rock out of his pouch. He readied his next throw when he paused and let his arm dangle uselessly at his side.

There had been no reason to reach out like that. There had been no reason to accept the lessons from Bilbo, as he could have just gone to Mistress Baggins, who insisted on being called Belladonna, for the lessons.

Yet he invited Bilbo into his lodgings and accepted the lessons with a certain grace his Dwarfling self would have been _appalled_ over.

So…why?

Thorin rolled the rock over his fingers and readied his arm for one final toss.

Why?

With an exhale, he brought his arm forward, and he flicked his wrist. The rock skipped once, twice, and a third time before it sunk below the water.

He fished out another rock out of the pouch, gritting his teeth as he readied it and sent it skipping across the water five times before it sunk below the surface. Thorin immediately fished out another and tried to relax.

“Why him?” Thorin growled as he flicked his wrist, sending another rock across the surface.

As the eighth skip lead to it sinking into the water, Thorin stared at the ripples, smiling at the way they bounced off each other, spreading until the water brushed them away.

Why Bilbo Baggins?

Well, at least he was…

 _Oh_.

Mahal _curse it_.


	12. The Hiding Heart

Bilbo sighed as he read through the missive from the Westward Caravan’s head, Marigold in a basket next to the desk, while the Rook who had delivered the missive, Onyx (Bilbo had not named him), rested on the windowsill, indulging in a great amount of water.

According to the missive there had been a Dwarf, Bofur, who was in the Man’s village that they passed through to Mithlond, who had agreed to the rather large commission of children’s toys. They had already given a down-payment for the toys and Bilbo trusted the Dwarf to come through in that regard, but there seemed to be some concern over the payment.

Bilbo hoped the payment for would not be a problem, as the Elves of Mithlond bought comfortable Hobbit things for their Journey to the West from Bilbo’s trading caravan and that _should_ cover the pay for Bofur. But, if they didn’t have the money to cover the cost, then Bilbo should probably send extra funds, but there was no way the Rooks could get there, with a response _and_ coins in time to pay for the toys, which caused Bilbo to frown.

There should be enough coin leftover to cover any additional cost there and the fact there was some concern over payment worried Bilbo. He focused on the missive and tapped his fingers against it before he turned his gaze to the window. “Onyx, who is our fastest flier?” Bilbo inquired slightly and the Rook looked up.

“Basil,” Onyx croaked out.

Bilbo nodded and settled at his desk. “Very well then. Let’s hope he doesn’t make _too_ many gouges into Ruso’s hand,” Bilbo stated as he began to write a response to the request.

Once he was finished with the response, which confirmed the amount, along with a reminder to give a tip for good quality, he set it to the side, deciding to go down to the Rookery after Lunch to get Basil to deliver it.

Ruso, unfortunately, was a bit like the Sackville-Baggins, and a cheapskate at times. He would try to spend the least amount that he could, never mind that he got a stock pay that was comfortable (something Bilbo managed for every single employee) and a bonus, as well as repayment for anything that had to be bought while on the road.

Marigold made a sound that was a cross between pain and concern, drawing Bilbo out of his thoughts. “That time already dear one? All right then. I’ll get your medicine and then we can all enjoy some lunch,” Bilbo stated as he carefully picked up the basket before he urged Onyx onto his shoulder, and retreated to the kitchen.

There was a Lunch for two Hobbits (though one had a fading appetite) and two Rooks (one injured and one exhausted) to make.

* * *

“See, everything worked out,” Belladonna stated as she helped Bilbo put together the gifts on the day of the party.

Bilbo just huffed softly and continued to sort through the baskets of gifts, making sure no gift looked any better than the next, constantly shifting things until each basket, marked for each family, looked perfectly put together so they would be easier to pass out, while individual gifts were carefully tagged so the wrong person wouldn’t get the wrong gift. “Have you picked out Nothir’s gift yet?” Belladonna questioned lightly as she settled the final basket on the ground, hoping that Bilbo had some helpers lined up or he’d never get the presents all carried down.

Bilbo was silent as he settled another toy in a basket and then set it to the side. “Of course I have,” Bilbo answered and Belladonna chuckled as she settled the tablecloth that was not only embroidered with a great deal of flowers, but with the name _Peaseblossom Proudfoot_ in great large letters that could not be covered.

Belladonna got her vengeance for her baby boy where she could, and this was one way. “Really? What is it?” Belladonna asked brightly, pretending she didn’t see the way Bilbo’s ears were going red.

“It’s…not here. I…um…it is in the study,” Bilbo answered and ducked his head slightly as he finished embroidering daisies onto the ribbon to tie onto the basket that was part of the gift for the Greenhand family.

“Well?” Belladonna questioned lightly.

Bilbo nodded slowly and immediately walked off as Belladonna finished off setting aside the last of the gifts. When he came back, it was with a beautiful red leather book that was bound at the top instead of the side. “Master Nothir seemed to enjoy Father’s designs and such so much that…well, I copied Father’s book,” Bilbo explained and Belladonna felt her jaw drop slightly.

“You did…what?” Belladonna asked, unable to stop herself, because Bilbo guarded Bungo’s things like a dragon guarded their hoard.

Curled around it and hid it away, kept it close and cherished, as if letting any of it leave the smial would somehow diminish the memory of his father.

“Copied…copied Father’s book, when I couldn’t sleep. He…he made mention of liking what he saw, the craftsmanship, and I felt, since he could only talk to the untalented Baggins, he could at least _see_ the work of a talented Baggins second hand,” Bilbo explained.

“You are far from _untalented_ Bilbo Baggins! You not only have a natural gift for storytelling, but you are one of the best artists to grace the Shire! Had…had any of your siblings lived, I am sure you would travel along the trade route, painting pictures, and maybe have even gone to Erebor to paint commissions for the Dwarves! You, Bilbo Baggins, are the most talented Hobbit within the Four Farthings and Bree and I will _not_ have you talking about yourself in such a way, am I clear?” Belladonna responded sharply, wishing she could stand up to loom over Bilbo, as if that would push the self-confidence back into her only son.

She wished she could say that his lack of self-confidence was just him, or just a matter of disappointments adding up over time, but it wasn’t. It was other Hobbits, kin and kin of kin, and people who should _know better_ who had brought about, for even the strongest oak would break if the wind was long and harsh enough. “Yes Mother,” Bilbo answered softly and Belladonna inhaled slowly before she let out it all out in a long _whoosh_ , suddenly exhausted.

It wouldn’t be long now, now that Bilbo was old enough to hold onto the home he had grown up in. She would soon join Bungo and…

Well, Belladonna _hoped_ Bilbo wouldn’t be alone, but even with the blacksmith, Nothir, she was starting to fear he would be. That he would lock himself away from the world in hopes of just keeping out of sight and out of mind, leaving only to interact with the Rooks, who would help keep him from his fellow Hobbits, leaving him to become a small shade of his former self.

A smaller shade than he already was now.

“So, you copied Bungo’s work for Master Nothir?” she inquired and Bilbo nodded, tracing along the cover.

“A perfect gift for a craftsman such as Master Nothir,” she praised and Bilbo gave her a shaky smile before he focused down on the book.

He let his fingers trail along the cover, briefly, before he pulled out some deep royal blue ribbon adorned with silver pansies and forget-me-nots, something that caused Belladonna to feel her eyebrows lift and a her heart to tug slightly in her chest. “Bilbo, he’ll never know that way,” she murmured softly.

“That’s the point, Mama. He’ll never accept me, so why should I risk myself that way…again?” Bilbo responded and Belladonna sighed softly.

“But everyone _else_ will know, and is that fair to him?” Belladonna questioned softly.

“They won’t tell him or tease him for it. Everyone knows he couldn’t possibly know, so they’ll leave him alone. I’ll just receive their pity and jabs, but at least it will be about something that…something that they don’t usually pity or jab me about,” Bilbo answered and Belladonna let out a soft sigh, turning her eyes towards the sleeping Marigold.

“Alright Bilbo, if that’s what you want,” she murmured.

“That’s what I want, Mother,” Bilbo answered quietly as he tied a bow and set it on the basket carrying individual gifts.

“Now, where are my anklets with silver bells?” Bilbo questioned as he walked away from the room and Belladonna, who watched him go with a sad air about her.

She let him go with only a simple, “I think they are in your room, dear,” knowing she had pushed too hard today.

 _It will happen, love, it will happen. He’s just not met the right one yet_ , Bungo’s voice whispered in her heart.

She sighed softly and pat the arm of her chair, as if she could pat Bungo’s hand. “Of course, dear, of course. But I do wish the ‘right one’ would hurry,” she murmured and Bungo’s soft laugh, the one he got whenever she was impatient, echoed in her memory.


	13. Finding Heart

Thorin smiled into his mug of ale as he watched the Hobbits of the Shire twirl around in dancing circles, the chimes of bells that were tied around their ankles with braided leather ringing almost, but not quite, above the music. He shifted and glanced to where most of the children were dancing, a bit surprised to see that Bilbo was in the center of the circle, a noticeable space between him and the children, as if an invisible circle surrounded the Hobbit that the children would not, or could not, cross.

Thorin almost snorted, but stopped himself when he remembered _his_ birthday gift.Of the red leather book bound at the top with the royal blue ribbon embroidered with silver flowers tied around it, of being told he could pick it up after the party was over, which is usually when everyone carried them off. He remembered the looks on people’s faces when they saw the gift in Thorin’s hands, of the way Bilbo had barely glanced at them, smiling up at Thorin as if he understood what turmoil was going on in his mind.

With a sigh, Thorin leaned further back against the wall, trying to forget the way Bilbo Baggins looked when he gave Thorin his gift, instead focusing on how much Hobbits ate. Thorin was already quite full, yet he could see Hobbits from here still going to get even more food. Thorin was willing to bet some were getting their _twelfth_ helping, while Thorin had barely gotten through three.

He had retreated to the shadowy outskirts of the party when they seemed close to force-feeding him and, as he was wearing the dark colors he always favored, Thorin knew that few Hobbits would notice him. Practically invisible, and not being looked for, it allowed him to hear a great deal of gossip he was sure otherwise he would have remained ignorant of, such as the gossip that surrounded Thorin himself.

The rumors about a “poor Hobbit lad being so foolish with his heart, again” and how “he should know better by now” had to be completely untrue, however, as Thorin was pretty sure he would have noticed if someone was pining after him. His mind wasn’t _completely_ stone, just _mostly_ stone, if Dís was to be believed.

Unfortunately, the speculations of why he had settled here to work and his life outside of the Shire were quite close enough to the truth that Thorin contemplated leaving, when a gong being hit pulled Thorin’s attention away from the gossiping Hobbits.

Upon seeing the Hobbits were now moving rapidly to the long tables, Thorin realized it must be time for the speeches (thank Mahal), and began to look for Belladonna. He found her rather quickly, as she was sitting at the table near the front.

As he crossed out of the shadows, he heard more than one startled shriek at his sudden movement and he sat next to Belladonna, who looked close to cackling. A plate coated in apple seeds was in front of her as she finished off the latest apple, core and all. “Master Nothir, how wonderful! Did you see Bilbo’s gift for you?” she inquired once she had wiped her mouth and Thorin nodded.

“Bilbo said that I could leave it on the table till I am ready to leave,” Thorin stated and she nodded.

“That’s what most do! Oh, shhhhh, Bilbo’s about to make his speech. It is his first speech,” Belladonna chattered before she waved her hands at Thorin, as if he had been the one speaking instead of her.

She immediately leaned forward and smiled up at her son, who was standing on a small podium at the front, allowing him to be seen by everyone. “Hello Grubbs, Chubbs, Boffins, Proudfeet, (“Proudfoots!” came a shout that Bilbo seemed to ignore), Boldgers, Tooks, Brandybucks, and of course, Bagginses, it is with my greatest delight that I welcome you all to my Coming of Age Birthday Party. Normally, the Head of the Baggins Family would now come up and give a bit about the life and hopes of the future for the one coming of age, but as I am the Head of the Baggins Family, it would hardly be proper for me to do so, so instead, my uncle, Longo Sackville-Baggins, will be giving the Coming of Age speech, of which I am surprised that he agreed to, for all the right reasons,” Bilbo greeted and he stepped down as he applauded, quickly taking his seat on the other side of Belladonna.

Thorin raised an eyebrow when he saw her carefully pick up a seed from the plate and roll it between the pads of her thumb and pointer finger as a Hobbit, portly even by what Thorin thought was Hobbit standards, with short curly hair that was a bit darker than Bilbo’s stepped up onto the podium. He was wearing almost _gaudy_ bright clothes, and the smile he gave Bilbo was neither pleasant, nor real.

“Thank you Bilbo! I was surprised when Bilbo approached me to ask, considering that I cannot think of anything to say that he doesn’t already know,” Longo stated and the apple seed was flicked to hit him in the face.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at that as Longo twitched while Belladonna readied another apple seed. “Yes, as I was saying, Bilbo already knows the direction his life his headed, within the big smial on the Hill,” he explained, wincing twice as Belladonna ‘fired’ two seeds with fatal accuracy at his cheek.

“Mother!” Bilbo hissed, but Belladonna merely readied another apple seed, as Longo continued on.

“Bilbo has shown wonderful determination in running his father’s business, refusing even the smallest of offers from family and friends, a true Baggins spirit,” Longo continued, twitching when he was hit with another apple seed.

Thorin felt as if his breath had left his body as he suddenly understood the reason behind Belladonna’s actions and he grit his teeth so that he wouldn’t join her, only with something more…permanently damaging. While Thorin may not understand the insults behind the veil, he knew that Bilbo was being insulted. “As Bilbo has grown, he has shown that while his future prospects may not be the same as others,” and here another appleseed was flicked, causing him to flinch, “he has continued on without fear of such a future, which is admirable in all the ways it should be,” he continued, another apple seed being flicked into his chin this time.

Bilbo took the plate after that, putting it on the other side of him, away from his mother. “Bilbo, now reaching his majority, has already lived up to the expectations of those around him, and we are sure he will continue to meet such expectations in the future,” Longo stated and Thorin carefully slipped one of the smaller stones, one that he had collected to see if it could be used in stone polishing practice, to Belladonna.

She raised an eyebrow as Longo continued about how Bilbo had “even expanded the business in a way that sung of his Took heritage” and Thorin resisted the urge to smirk. “The legs,” he whispered and Belladonna smiled.

“So, it is with a heavy heart that I saaaaaaaaaaay!” Longo stated, only to cut himself off with a yelp as the stone hit his leg hard enough to bounce off.

“Say, good luck and good fortune to the rest of your life. May it be long indeed,” Longo finished, teeth practically fused together at the last words, and quickly walked off the podium to the cheers of the Hobbits.

“Mother!” Bilbo hissed, even as the cake was pulled out to be cut and handed out.

“What?” Belladonna asked innocently, even as Bilbo sighed, slumping back, getting the largest cake slice of them all.

“You do need it dear,” the Hobbit lady, who had hair almost the exact shade of Bilbo’s hair stated.

“Thank you Aunt Belba,” Bilbo stated and Belladonna gave her a sharp look as she accepted the slice of cake, Thorin murmuring his thanks when he got a slice.

The silver forks were ones Thorin recognized as ones that had been in a window shop and Thorin glanced at Belladonna, who smiled. “Why should I risk my silverware near Camellia’s sticky paws when I can just spend a bit of _my_ money to get an all new set?” she asked and Bilbo gave a quiet groan on the other side of his mother.

“What?” Belladonna questioned, before she took a delicate bite of the cake, various drinks being handed out to everyone, or refilled.

Thorin glanced around Belladonna to see that Bilbo was halfway through his own slice, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying it, and then focused on his own slice. “Will you be staying much longer, Mistress Baggins?” he questioned softly.

“You must _really_ call me Belladonna. I am hardly _Mistress_ Baggins anymore, now that Bilbo’s all grown,” she stated lightly and Thorin resisted the urge to sigh.

“Belladonna, will you be staying much longer?” he questioned and Belladonna beamed.

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you, Master Nothir. Would you be a sweet dear and carry me up to Bag-End? I’m afraid that I won’t be able to make it on my own, and Bilbo, while easily able to carry me, I fear wouldn’t be able to make it _up_ the Hill,” Belladonna stated and Thorin nodded.

“If you truly need me to, Belladonna, it would be my honor. I will have to go soon anyway, so I can start out early tomorrow,” Thorin answered and Belladonna nodded.

“Family obligations. Hobbits understand better than most, in that regard, though the travel we’re not too sure on,” Belladonna stated and Thorin nodded in agreement, watching as Bilbo slowly stood up.

“Ah, Bilbo, be sure to gather up Master Nothir’s gift,” Belladonna stated as Thorin immediately shifted to lift Belladonna up into his arms, nearly throwing himself off his feet by how unexpectedly light she was.

Her hands flew up to hold onto his shoulders and she giggled, Thorin biting back a blush as he felt Belladonna squeeze his shoulders in an almost provocative manner.

“Of course Mother,” Bilbo answered, oblivious to the way his mother was practically _swooning_ in Thorin’s arms and Thorin focused on not blushing as he followed Bilbo out of the party.

Walking behind Bilbo as he was, he saw the way the other Hobbits didn’t touch him, with few exceptions, one of them being Belba Grubb (or was it Chubb? Thorin could not remember and was thankful Dwarves were not nearly so tangled). The others to make such an exception were Took and Brandybuck relations. Each of the touches Bilbo was given, however, were as quick as they could make them and Thorin wondered what it was about the newly come of age Head of the Baggins Family had done to earn such isolation.

Thorin couldn’t see a reason on Bilbo’s skin. There was no ban anywhere, just a bubble of space around the young Hobbit, as if people were afraid to touch him.

From what Thorin had seen, Bilbo practically craved touch, always leaning into his mother’s hair ruffles and her motherly fussing. Even on the day Thorin had gone to Bag-End to fix the backdoor, Bilbo had shown a keen half-awareness for the touches Thorin had bestowed upon him, even though he was distracted by the Rook in his arms, so it couldn’t be Bilbo disliking being touched and the other Hobbits respecting that.

It confused him, even as he watched Bilbo carefully lift Thorin’s gift into his hands and lead the way to Bag-End. They were only a few feet from the party when Thorin heard someone hiss, “I can’t believe you touched him!” behind them.

“I know, but I couldn’t avoid it without snubbing the host!” another voice hissed and then they were out of Thorin’s hearing.

Judging by the way both Belladonna’s and Bilbo’s ears twitched, they were not out of _their_ hearing, something Thorin vowed to remember in the future in case he felt the need to complain about any of the Hobbits to his anvil.

As they walked up the path, he was startled slightly by Bilbo pausing to turn to them. “She’s asleep,” he murmured softly and Thorin glanced down to see Belladonna had, indeed, passed out, though there had been no change in weight that usually accompanied someone passing out.

“So she is,” Thorin murmured as he looked back up to find Bilbo smiling sadly.

The moonlight was catching his hair as well as deepening the color of his eyes, and Thorin swallowed. “There was a time she would dance till dawn. Her bells were gold, because Father wanted nothing but the best for her, and she braided flowers into his hair every party. Now, she can barely get through the speeches. To be expected really,” Bilbo murmured softly.

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked quietly.

“She’s dying, Master Nothir. But then, she’s been dying for a long time now,” Bilbo explained and he turned, walking quickly up the path.

It took a few moments before Thorin caught up with him, Belladonna barely a noticeable weight in his arms, even though she was in deep sleep.

* * *

Thorin sighed softly as he carefully slipped Belladonna into her bed, Bilbo carefully covering her once more. Thorin blinked a bit, wondering if she had always been this frail, if she’d always been skin, bones, and snow white hair.

No…the snow white hair was new, Thorin was sure of it. And she could not have always possibly been this painfully frail, because she…

“Master Nothir, I can assure you my mother has always looked like this since you first met her. Now please stop glowering at her,” Bilbo cut in softly, not reaching out to tug, but his voice was enough to have Thorin stepping away, ignoring how his gut twisted over the idea of Bilbo so accurately predicting what he had been thinking.

Retreating from the room, he is surprised when Bilbo closes the door after them, but doesn’t let go of the door knob. “Master Baggins?” Thorin questioned softly and Bilbo slowly let his fingers fall from the door knob.

“She’ll probably be dead before my next birthday,” Bilbo stated and Thorin twitched at that.

He had thought only Dwarves died in such a suddenly fading fashion. “Are all Hobbits like that?” Thorin questioned, unable to stop himself.

“Just those that have lost the other halves of their souls. Usually, they die within the year, but Mother always had to be special,” Bilbo answered, voice distant.

“Maybe she had a reason to hold on,” Thorin responded, knowing he would have held on if he had a child who needed him.

Bilbo gave a small shrug. “Maybe,” he said in a voice that held some hidden…something to it, in a way that made Thorin think Bilbo did not believe him, or knew better than Thorin did.

This was true, of course, as Thorin did not know Hobbits. He had no idea what their customs entailed, including why Bilbo’s _uncle_ made the speech. “Why did you let your relation make the speech?” Thorin inquired softly and he stared as Bilbo turned to face him.

“Because he would be the kindest,” Bilbo answered and Thorin felt as if he got kicked in the chest as he stared at the barely of age Hobbit who stood before Thorin.

A mask had carefully slid into place, hiding his true feelings from those around him, eyes still as he stared up at Thorin, and Thorin knew that stance. He had taken it before he was forced to his knees before his father. His father who had then taken the ceremonial knife to his hair, scattering his beads, the one marking him as an Heir of Durin rolling to the edge of the walkway but not _quite_ going over, and then removing every last trace of beard from his face, shamed and exiled by his _father_ on the word of greedy _wyrms_ in Dwarf skin.

Bilbo stood before him like Thorin once stood before his father and Thorin wondered how horribly wrong he was about Bilbo. Wondered how he could have been so horribly wrong about this Hobbit that stood before him like one waiting for an unfair punishment. “Thank you,” Thorin stated and Bilbo blinked rapidly.

“What?” he inquired softly.

“Thank you for inviting me to your Coming of Age party,” Thorin stated and Bilbo took a deep, shaky, breath.

“Thank you for coming,” Bilbo answered softly and carefully picked up Thorin’s book from where it rested on the table by Belladonna’s bedroom door, and held it out to Thorin.

He took it carefully and held it gently in one arm, even as Bilbo headed towards the front door, Thorin quickly following. The door swung open easily and Thorin stepped onto the front porch, the chill of the coming winter clashing with the loud party sounds still climbing up the Hill, despite the fact the guest of honor was gone. “Good evening, Master Nothir, and safe travels,” Bilbo stated as stood at the front door, but not moving to shut it.

Thorin turned to face him, to ask him, when flowers like purplish daisies caught his eye, having him pause to stare at them in the moonlight. They surrounded a bush that had already lost its flowers and Thorin didn’t hesitate to kneel down to carefully, gently, pluck one of the purple daisies from the rest. He stood, ignoring Bilbo’s huffing protests, and Thorin turned, slowly, back to Bilbo as he reached up to tuck the flower in Bilbo’s curls.

The actions immediately silenced Bilbo, ears turning red as Thorin indulged himself in feeling Bilbo’s soft curls against his calloused fingers as he carefully wove the stem with the leaves still attached into the curls a bit more. Bilbo was barely breathing at this point, so it was with great reluctance Thorin removed his fingers.

Bilbo inhaled sharply as he stared at Thorin, ears red and cheeks dusted pink. That combined with the contrast of soft moonlight and soft candlelight across Bilbo’s form nearly sent Thorin’s hand back into Bilbo’s curls, though more in a ‘grab and pull forward into a bruising kiss’ manner instead of just to touch Bilbo’s curls. “Good night Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, knowing he needed to go before he did just that.

“Good night, Nothir,” Bilbo responded softly and Thorin turned, walking out the gate.

He was nearly out of sight of Bag-End when he turned back, just in time to see the light that could only come from the doorway cut off, as if the door was shut. Thorin felt as if his heart was trying to leap out of his chest and he felt his face heat up before he turned, walking as quickly as he could the forge.

Mahal save him, he really was in trouble, wasn’t he?

* * *

Bilbo touched the petals of the aster flower that Nothir had given him. Granted, it was from Bilbo’s own garden, and what did Bilbo have to be _patient_ about, but…

He smiled as he continued to pet the petals, feeling his heart trying to fill up his chest, pushing his lungs out of the way, and he clutched at his chest.

Someone had given him a _flower_.

His chest was near bursting and then…it was gone in a rush and Bilbo felt his knees become water as he collapsed in his front hallway.

His first flower…and Nothir would never know what it meant, would never understand…

Bilbo clasped his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs as he tentatively reached up to remove the aster from his curls, closing his eyes tightly as tears slid down his cheeks, his hand loosely holding the lilac flower.

(Later, it would be pressed and hidden, but that was later. For now, Bilbo mourned the fact his first flower came from one who would never, could never, follow through with what it meant.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, officially, all of EWE'S BEAUTIFUL PICTURES YOU SHOULD GO LOOK AT are now written.
> 
> The rest is now....NEW AND COMPLETELY UNSEEN BY ALL...except Ewe and Syxx.


	14. Heading Home

Thorin carefully hooked the ponies up to the cart, having triple checked that everything was packed before he had even slipped the harness onto the bay. Now, ready to leave the Shire and go back to the village he lived in with those who followed him into exile, he was hesitant to leave.

He wanted to stay in Hobbiton, something that he thought would never happen. Even as he prepared himself to go back home to his sister and sister-sons and others loyal to him, he was searching for a reason to linger in Hobbiton. With a huff, he double-checked the harness on both the ponies, and then hopped onto the bench. He was about to flick the reins when he heard a voice shout, “Master Nothir!”

Thorin twisted and was surprised to see Holman Greenhand walking quickly up to the cart. He stared down at the basket in the Hobbit’s arms, even as the Hobbit tween panted softly. “Master Baggins sent me down with this. He wishes you luck on your travels, Master Nothir, and hopes you’ll be back in spring,” Holman stated as he held the basket up to Thorin.

He hesitated, briefly, and Thorin nodded before he took the basket. “Thank you Mister Holman,” Thorin answered and Holman beamed before he stepped back.

“Good travels, Master Nothir. And see you come spring,” Holman stated and then he turned, running back up the road to his smial.

Thorin gazed at the basket and, making sure the reins would not slip free, he settled it on his lap. It was warm under his hands and he could smell something delicious slipping through the weave. Curious, Thorin opened it and was surprised to find various soft biscuits (though Bilbo had called them scones once) settled there.

Thorin chuckled a bit, locked the basket closed, set it under his bench. Gathering the reins, he took a deep breath.

Yes, he would be back in spring.

With a click and a flick of the reins, the ponies began to walk, the grey tossing his head briefly, and then they were turning towards the Blue Mountains and the village that was nestled at their feet.

* * *

“Did you see him off?” Mother asked softly as Bilbo settled a breakfast tray over her lap.

“No. He had to leave early this morning and I didn’t want him to think I was there for another reason or had forgotten he was leaving today,” Bilbo answered simply, doing his best not to think of the flower that was being pressed as he spoke.

“Oh, what a pity. I was hoping you would give him some breakfast to take with him on the road,” she murmured softly, even as Bilbo silently urged her to eat, merely humming and trying not to think of the scones he had packed into the basket and sent Holman Greenhand running off with.

He had duties that started the moment the sun peeked over the horizon and he would uphold them, even as he tried to get his mother to eat breakfast and, bar that, drink some tea.

But Belladonna Baggins merely stared out the window, humming occasionally, and Bilbo eventually focused on his own food. Once Breakfast was done, he took her uneaten Breakfast with the empty dishes.

Belladonna didn’t even twitch, just focused, if it could be called that, at the sky that could be seen from her bedroom window.

Moments later, a Rook cut across the blue, carrying a message to the Great Took Smials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *singing*
> 
> "Oh, _oh_ , we're halfway there. Oh, _oh_ , livin' on a prayer, take my hand, we'll make it I swear!"
> 
> *clears throat*
> 
> Anyway, it is halfway(ish) through the Big Bang posting, and halfway(ish) through the fic! YAY!!!
> 
> [Reminder to all new readers; this is a Big Bang posting and in no way reflects how fast I normally post. Generally, it takes much longer, but as this is sitting, complete, on my memory stick, so...yeah. It'll all be posted by May 23rd. Enjoy!]


	15. Ill at Heart and Near to Home

“Thank you for coming Cousin Eglantine and Cousin Hazel,” Bilbo greeted as he opened the door to Bag-End to identical girls with strawberry blonde curls, one in a green dress with bluebells embroidered across the skirt while the other wore a blue dress with ivy embroidered across the skirt.

He was unsurprised to see Eglantine’s twin, Hazel, at her shoulder and had, in fact, been expecting it. The two eldest daughters of Uncle Isembold were as inseparable as ivy from a tree, one forever twined around the other. To marry one without consenting to sharing a home with the other was impossible, and Bilbo hoped that they one day found the spouse that was right for them, for Bilbo doubted there was one who could fall for one sister and not the other. “Thank you Cousin Bilbo!” Hazel greeted as they stepped in.

Both shifted their bodies so they wouldn’t even accidentally brush up against him as Eglantine said, “Anything for Auntie Belladonna. She’s our favorite, you know.”

Bilbo bit back a hollow laugh at that. His mother was hardly any of his cousins’ _favorite_ , but she was Uncle Isembold’s favorite sister and thus, by default, that made her the favorite aunt to Eglantine and Hazel. It had also made them, by default, Bilbo’s chief tormentors when their parents’ backs were turned.

“Eglantine’s almost finished with her Healer’s training as well, so it is perfect,” Hazel added and Bilbo nodded as he quietly shut the door behind them with difficulty.

He desperately wished he could _slam_ the thing shut, to get them to stop spouting their delicate little lies. “Do you wish to see Mother first, or do you wish to be shown to your room?” Bilbo inquired as he turned to face them.

Hazel huffed and picked up a majority of the bags while Eglantine took the rest. “I’ll take care of the room. Eglantine will see to Auntie,” Hazel responded, even as Eglantine moved to Mother’s bedroom, slipping in without even knocking.

Bilbo bit back voicing his thoughts on that and instead focused on Hazel, who was wearing the green dress. “Of course, Cousin Hazel,” Bilbo murmured and turned, heading towards the guest room he had prepared for his cousins when he got a reply from his mother’s relations, two weeks ago (something which would enrage him, if he had the energy to feel anything other than exhaustion).

“Have you heard, Cousin Bilbo?” Hazel asked as Bilbo opened the door for her, tiredly noting how she made sure not even her skirt brushed against him.

“Heard what?” Bilbo inquired, doubting he had.

He had spent most of his waking hours that weren’t dedicated to his mother welcoming back Hobbits from the caravans, paying them for their work, writing notes to family members if any the Hobbits had decided to stay behind in one village or another (or even with the Elves as some Tooks were wont to do, two of Bilbo’s uncles, Hidifons and Isengar among them), and doing any other minor duty he had no one to pass off to anymore. “Cousin Aldagrim _and_ his wife, Opal, had children at the same time! He didn’t even notice, the silly idiot! Turns out she had a Planter gene in there, and he had the Carrier gene and _ta-da_! They decided to just say they were triplets, which they are, just carried in two different places and, of course, two had to get cut out. He’s fine, of course. And all three are happy. Juniper, Lilac, and Ruby. Poor Opal is hoping one of them takes after the jewel naming, but that’s the Brandybuck in her, also why she only had Ruby. Brandybucks are so strange, only having one child every five births or something like that! Of course, that’s fine and all down in Brandybuck Halls, Great Mother knows that none have ever had _just_ one! Why, not even _you_ were born as one!” Hazel chattered and froze, even as Bilbo’s shoulders tensed.

“I hope the room is to your liking, cousin. Excuse me, I have other matters to attend to,” Bilbo answered and turned, walking away.

She offered no apologies and Bilbo knew he would receive none. He just walked silently to his mother’s bedroom, the door partially open for easy movement between the rooms, and hovered. “Auntie, just some tea? For me, please?” Eglantine coaxed and Bilbo started when he heard his mother snort.

“Why are you here Eglantine? I thought infertility was catching,” his mother mocked tiredly in an icy voice.

Bilbo closed his eyes tightly, even as he heard Eglantine gasp and protest those words. His hands curled into fists before he opened his eyes and glided to the kitchen. Eglantine’s protests over how she felt about Belladonna could no longer be heard, but previous words echoed through his mind.

“Cousin, do you have any rose hips?” Eglantine asked as she entered the kitchen and Bilbo looked over her from where he was making Lunch.

“Eglantine, you and Hazel will be gone by the end of the week,” he stated and she gaped at him like a fish pulled from water.

“Bilbo, you know you can’t run the trading business and help Auntie Belladonna at the same time. It would truly be for the best if Hazel and I remained,” she wheedled and Bilbo shook his head sharply at her words.

“No, it would not be for the best. You, and Hazel, both lie to my face, and Mother’s, as well as acting as if even touching what we touch will somehow transfer infertility and difficulty with having children to you! Mother needs someone who won’t be hovering around her, doing their best to, supposedly, help without touching her and that someone is Mistress Greenhand!” Bilbo responded sharply.

Eglantine continued to gape at him and Bilbo settled his hands on his hips, widening his stance slightly as he stared her down. “I will be asking Mistress Greenhand to come up at the end of the week, so I do hope you are prepared to leave by then,” Bilbo continued and turned away to focus on Lunch.

There was a sharp inhale and he heard Eglantine take a step forward. “She won’t agree Bilbo! No one will! Not for your _barren_ of a mother!” Eglantine snarled and then she ran out of the kitchen.

Bilbo doesn’t punch her or throw her out of Bag-End, but Bilbo honestly thinks that is because she left his presence. Instead, he swallows harshly and focuses on Lunch once more, surprised to see that he’s been preparing cheese scones.

They will be delicious, he is sure.

* * *

Thorin cursed in Khuzdul as he fought the grey pony, the gelding taking it upon himself to misbehave. Thorin knew he was fine, as he had checked all over when the grey first began to act up and now he had to get the gelding to behave.

Thorin knew that if the temperamental creature kept this up, the bay mare, who was already properly hitched to the wagon, would start to misbehave, which could leave him without the two ponies needed to pull the wagon. The mare squealed slightly and Thorin huffed as he, finally, hitched the gelding to the wagon. Making sure everything was properly done, he hopped up onto the bench.

Taking up the reins, he clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, the ponies quickly settling into a brisk walk. Both seemed to have an excess of energy and Thorin knew that once he got to a stretch of clean, straight, road, he was going to have to let them trot, or they wouldn’t want to work at all tomorrow.

With a small smile on his face and a light hand on the reins, Thorin thought of the home he would be returning to in five days, the road passing quickly under them in the early morning light.


	16. Open Home

Thorin let out a sigh of relief as Shadowstone came into view once the ponies and cart rounded the bend. The long low buildings sat firmly within the shadow of the Blue Mountains, built out of the stone that had come from the rebuilding of the Broadbeam and Firebeard strongholds within the Blue Mountains and wood from the forests that stretched along the road onward to the Sea.

At the edge stood the houses Thorin and those who had joined him in exile lived in, separated from the town by a fair distance; far enough to say ‘they were not of us’ but close enough to still be in the village. Within a stone walled field, the three ponies (one black, and two chestnuts) that had remained behind had thick winter coats, the donkey that Dwalin had saved from a bunch of Men and was now their warning bell standing with them, equally heavy coated.

He was probably proud of the fact come spring another mule would be born, if one could attribute pride to the way an animal stood.

On the wall one of the numerous cats that lived around their homes and barn, a white one, was napping in one of the last rays of sunshine that would touch the village till dawn.

The chickens were nowhere to be seen and Thorin wondered if Ori had finally managed to change one of the stalls into a proper chicken coop in Thorin’s absence and, if he had, if the chickens were going to be there for the entirety of winter. As he had the ponies come to a stop next to the barn, he hopped down from the bench, muddy snow splattering up the moment his boots hit the ground.

A soft _mrewaol_ came from the cat sunning herself on the wall and Thorin glanced around quickly before he stepped over, scratching behind the cat’s ears. She immediately stretched up into his petting, purring loudly as she demanded his entire attention, never mind that the ponies were waiting to get unhitched and released into the field. “Shathu, where are the others, hmm?” he questioned lowly and the cat merely _mrewaol_ ed again before she slipped away from his hand to run off.

That was his only warning before a heavy Dwarfling body crashed into him, sending them both sprawling onto the ground. Muddy snow flew up around them soaking into the back of Thorin’s coat, as mad giggles filled his ear and arms wrapped around his torso as best as they could. “Uncle!”

Brunette hair in his eyes, that particular cadence to the words, Thorin needed nothing more than that to register just whom jumped him and was already hugging his nephew tight “Kíli,” he responded as his youngest nephew laughed brightly as he clung to Thorin, burying himself into Thorin’s embrace.

“Missed you, Uncle,” he stated brightly as he sat up while still pinning Thorin to the muddy snow.

“Missed you too Kíli. Where are your parents?” Thorin answered, even as he tried to shove his nephew off of him.

Kíli just held onto him tighter. “Amad is working with one of the weavers in the village _proper_ while Adad is in the forge, working on jewelry,” Kíli answered brightly as he clung all the tighter to Thorin.

“Your brother?” he inquired lightly, barely keeping from frowning when Kíli seemed to slump.

“Fíli’s been spending a lot of time shouting at me,” Kíli stated.

“Have you been filling his pillowcases with mud again?” Thorin asked, giving up on getting Kíli off of him for now.

He would have to do so soon, however, as the ponies would only handle being kept hitched up for so long before they began to show their impatience in more dangerous, to themselves and the cart, ways. “I would ne-… _almost_ never do that to him! Who do you take me for?” Kíli demanded.

“My youngest nephew,” Thorin answered he twisted as he pinned Kíli to the ground.

The sudden change of position made the younger of the two give an undignified squawk of surprise and Thorin gave his nephew a sharp look. “Now, you will explain to me what has happened between yourself and Fíli while we take care of the ponies,” Thorin stated as he stood up.

“Silver and Jewel,” Kíli supplied, as if Thorin had forgotten their names.

In truth Thorin had, in fact, forgotten their names, not because he didn’t pay attention but mainly because he just never used them. Kíli, on the other hand did, his nephew being the one behind most of the animals’ names in the first place. “Where are the goats?” Thorin asked as he unhitched the bay mare, Jewel, while Kíli unhitched Silver.

“I took them inside. It is why I am here. Due to how much Fíli and I have been fighting, Amad has said I am ‘to keep away from the forge so long as Fíli is there’, so I’ve been taking care of the animals that don’t have a permanent caretaker, like the ponies, the cats, and the goats. Mostly because everyone’s gotten really busy since you left,” Kíli explained as he led Silver towards the barn.

“What have you two been doing to each other?” Thorin inquired as he fell into step with Kíli.

Jewel snorted and tried to bite Silver, though Thorin easily pulled the bay mare away, ignoring the way the donkey began to follow them along the stone wall, looking far too interested in the mare. “I don’t know. I haven’t changed, but Fíli has just been so short tempered lately, like if I breathe even the slightest bit he’s allowed to attack me! And I like breathing, so I don’t exactly want to _stop_!” Kíli exclaimed and Thorin felt a false smile that made his lips feel thin and stretched replace the true one that had been there moments ago.

“I had thought, maybe, if I pranked him we could go back to the way we were, but he just chased me out of the house in my night clothes,” Kíli responded as he lead Silver into the stall next to the one that housed three goats.

Two were familiar to Thorin, being the ones who had been there when he had left (erect ears with white forequarters and black hindquarters), but the little goat, which looked almost like the other two, only her coat was mostly spotted, was new. “Pranking probably wasn’t the best idea Kíli,” Thorin stated as he lead Jewel into her own stall, away from the gelding, and began to remove the harness.

“I know it wasn’t, but…” Kíli explained and a long sigh curled through the air.

“I just had to try. You can understand that, can’t you?” Kíli responded and Thorin’s fingers twitched against Jewel’s neck as he worked on removing the collar from her shoulders.

“I can understand that,” Thorin answered as he finished unharnessing Jewel.

* * *

Bilbo hummed quietly as he wove his mother’s snow white hair into a complex crown braid, careful not to tug too harshly, yet keep it tight enough that the wayward curls would remain _in_ their braid. Distantly, Bilbo wondered if Nothir’s hair would be easier to braid, his ear tips heating up at the idea. “Bilbo dear, have you been listening to _anything_ I’ve said?” Belladonna inquired and Bilbo twitched slightly.

“Sorry, Mother, I haven’t,” he responded.

“Thoughts all wrapped up in your blacksmith?” she inquired a tad too innocently for her to truly _be_ innocent.

“He’s not _my_ anything!” Bilbo responded as he carefully tied off the braid, ignoring how it had thinned in some places already.

She was wasting away in front of him and he wasn’t spending every moment listen-…

“I noticed how you didn’t deny you were thinking about him,” she answered brightly and Bilbo felt his ears heat up further.

“Nothing is going to happen, Mother,” Bilbo responded softly and she hummed in return before she settled against him.

“Do you think the rain has cleared up enough for us to go outside?” she asked lightly and Bilbo focused on trying to fix a wayward curl instead of answering her.

He was saved from having to explain when there was a soft creak of someone shifting in a rocking chair, drawing Bilbo’s attention from his mother’s hair to Mistress Greenhand, who was sitting and knitting. “What was the first bouquet that Bungo gave you Belladonna?” she inquired and Bilbo felt his mother perk up.

He shifted till he was no longer her backrest as she began to talk. “Oh, the first _official_ bouquet was perfectly respectable. Tulips of all sorts, all tied up in a pretty ribbon. The first _real_ one, though, oh…daphne, camellia, and baby’s breath all tied up in a pale pink ribbon. It was such a _declaration_. Poor Bungo though, I panicked and ran off to the Sea to visit my brother there and found two instead. They were so surprised to see me and laughed, of course they did, about how I ran. Couldn’t bear to tell them that I was sure it was a joke. I came back to find him sulking, silly boy,” she exclaimed and sighed happily even as she began to hum a slight dancing tune.

“Do you think the hyacinths will be more bountiful this year?” Mistress Greenhand asked as Bilbo began to make his way to the door.

“Oh, yes. They come in such lovely colors,” Belladonna responded as Bilbo’s hand touched the door.

“Always preferred purple myself,” Mistress Greenhand replied as she counted the stitches.

Bilbo was in the hallway as his mother answered, “Purple is nice, but the meaning is so rarely used properly.”

Bilbo sighed and didn’t even twitch as Marigold landed on his shoulder with a soft sound. She ran her beak through his curls gently and he reached up to carefully run his fingers along her feathers as tears streamed down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daphne – “I would not have you otherwise.”
> 
> Camellia – “My destiny is in your hands.”
> 
> Baby’s breath – “Everlasting love.”
> 
> Hyacinth, blue – “Constancy.”
> 
> Hyacinth, purple – “Please forgive me.”


	17. The Heart Has Died but the Home is Still Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Death in this chapter. A very important character.

Belladonna hummed softly as she crocheted in front of the crackling fire, the wind howling like a lost wolf outside of the smial. She frowned when she nearly lost her loop instead of pulling it through and smiled brightly when she caught it in time. With a deft twist of her hook, she was soon continuing on, smiling a bit at the fisherman’s net style she was using to make a doily.

Oh, if her brothers could see what she was doing with the lessons they gave her!

She giggled to herself softly as she finished it off and set it on the arm of her chair just as the soft clink of ceramic being set on wood cut through the homely silence. “Bilbo, stop hovering so! You’ll hurt your back that way,” Belladonna scolded lightly as she reached for her tea, Bilbo merely humming in what could be agreement as he moved to sit across from her, holding his own mug of tea.

She snorted a bit and eyed him as she sipped her tea. Her tea was meticulously perfect and almost managed to cover the taste of the syrup to help her through the cold she had gotten when she had gone (forced her way) outside. The chill of winter combined with the thick sleet had put her back to bed, coughing and wheezing her way through the first snows of winter that barely covered the Shire in an inch of snow. “Bilbo?” she called and Bilbo hummed idly as he sipped his own tea.

“Did you eat?” she inquired and another hum was her only answer.

She frowned into her own teacup and set it to the side, the soft clink drawing Bilbo’s eyes to her. “Did you eat dear?” she inquired lightly and Bilbo swallowed his mouthful of tea before he set his mug to the side.

His touched the table with a soft thunk and Belladonna felt herself frown at him. “Why do you think I haven’t Mother?” Bilbo inquired lightly as he stood up.

“Because you aren’t answering my question,” she answered sharply as he straightened her quilt over her legs.

“I answered,” Bilbo responded softly as he walked back over to his chair and sat down once more, immediately lifting the mug to cradle it in his hands.

Belladonna huffed in response and picked up her teacup again, about to take a sip when she broke out in a hacking cough. She clutched at her chest as the teacup fell from her hand, landing on her lap and soaking the quilt as it bounced off to shatter on the floor. She shook as she continued to cough, and she barely registered hands on her shoulders, though she did feel when hands carefully pried the one over her mouth open enough to place a handkerchief there.

Trapping it to her mouth, omitting the few times she pulled it away to gasp between the hacks, she continued to claw at her chest while hands rubbed her back while another quilt was settled over her lap. She shook violently as she finished coughing and sat back with raspy gasps. She blinked to clear the tears from his vision, surprised to find Bilbo was kneeling in front of her. “Ivy?” she rasped out and Mistress Greenhand chuckled.

“Aye, tis I, Belladonna dear. Woke up to yer hacking. I told young Master Baggins there that I would be here for ya, what with Halfred and Holman having to wake up early tomorrow and Halfred, dear darling husband that he is, doesn’t want to wake me up unnecessarily,” Ivy answered warmly and Belladonna nodded a bit as Ivy pat her shoulder.

“I think I’ll put on the kettle and make us all some more tea,” Ivy stated and she left the room, even as Bilbo picked up the quilt.

She watched her son clean up the mess caused by her dropping the tea cup and let out a shaky sigh when Bilbo continued to search for shards that were not there. “Darling, I highly doubt there are any more,” she rasped out and Bilbo just continued to search.

“Bilbo Baggins, will you look at me?” she demanded softly.

He looked up at her and she let out a low sigh. “Oh, Bilbo,” she whispered hoarsely as she tugged Bilbo forward.

He went willingly, his shoulders already shaking as he buried himself in her embrace. “Don’t leave me alone, Mama, please don’t leave me alone,” he sobbed out as he clutched at her desperately, yet gently.

“Oh, my baby boy, you’re not alone,” she tried to soothe, but it seemed to do just the opposite, sending Bilbo into a new wave of sobs.

“The Rooks won’t move inside, Mama! I will be alone, with only the echoes of the past! To walk past rooms and remember what it was like when you smiled and laughed all the time and when Papa took you dancing around…” Bilbo argued, choking on his words as he slid down, burying himself into her quilt covered lap, his words muffled as Belladonna tried to comfort her son until her harsh hacking and coughing took her vision.

She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth, gasping slightly around the cloth as she ran trembling fingers through her son’s curls.

* * *

The snow started falling half-way through the funeral a week later. Bilbo had long since sobbed his heart out through his eyes, leaving him feeling wrung out. He was shivering slightly in the cold, or maybe he had started crying again as he clutched at the heleniums and marigolds all tied up with ivy. He wasn’t sure and he couldn’t even tell anymore as the soft sounds of his eldest uncle, Isengrim, finished his speech.

“…and while the Garden Mother did not bless my sister with a fertile garden, the Forest Father did bless her with a strong son who has survived all things the Life-Giver has put in his path with the gentle soul of one blessed by the Garden Mother and the eye of one blessed by the Forest Father. May my sister find peace within the Garden and Forest in the land of the Great Singers.”

Bilbo shook more violently, even as he unclenched his fingers enough to drop the flowers onto the grave covered in snow, staring at the copper and golden flowers all tied up with green, the last to be dropped. He knew he should speak, should talk about what a wonderful mother she was, but words, for the first time, stuck in his throat. He stared down at the flowers slowly being covered with snow, trying to remember anything to say.

“I hope you’re dancing Mama,” he whispered before he choked on his words again feeling as if the cold was settling deep in his heart instead of staying outside, where it belonged.

He stared down at the snow covered flowers as the sound of the mourners walking through the snow cut through the air. The flakes clung to his mourning clothes and probably to his hair and then the cold was sinking into him from all over, making his toes feel numb. He didn’t twitch when he heard another walking toward him. He twitched slightly when he felt an arm wrap around his upper back, one hand resting on his far arm, just above the elbow, another resting on his other arm, just above the other elbow. “Master Bilbo, s’time to come home now,” Holman whispered and Bilbo, slowly, followed the tug back to Bag-End.

But it was far from _home_.

* * *

Thorin grunted as his sister’s blond husband pulled him into a powerful hug, his head jabbing into his sternum. “You will only be gone a month, Silir, stop acting like it is going to be for the rest of your days,” Thorin demanded as he was released and Silir chuckled.

His braids were immaculate, like Fíli’s, each one a proud showing of a milestone in his life. There was his coming of age braid, in the manner of Stiffbeards, at his right temple while at the left temple was the one that marked him as the son of Salar, Lord of the Ruby Halls in some distant hall to the south of the Red Mountains.

There were more braids decorated his head, including a Marriage Brad in the style of the Longbeards, which was right behind his Coming of Age braid. His beard had been done in knots like rose thorns. “Of course, brother dear!” Silir teased and Thorin grunted as Silir pat his back before he turned to Dís.

“Dear One,” Silir stated and Thorin looked away as Dís began to smile sappily down at him.

“Darling,” she answered and Thorin did not hesitate to smack Kíli upside the head when he began to make fake gagging noises.

Fíli snorted slightly and Thorin smacked him upside the head as well. Fíli groaned and Thorin looked back over as he heard Dís chuckle. “Ah, my silly boys,” she chided and Thorin was sure Kíli was grinning like a madman behind him at that.

Silir walked over to Fíli and they murmured quietly before Silir smacked his forehead to Fíli’s. When he released Fíli and turned to his younger son, Thorin was surprised that Kíli stayed still. “Kíli,” Silir stated and he only took one step back when he was nearly bowled over by an overly-excited puppy of a Dwarf.

“Adad,” Kíli answered.

Silir chuckled and pat his back as he released Kíli. “Right. I’m off with the caravan,” Silir stated and turned back to Dís, who smiled back.

Her Marriage Braid in the style of the Stiffbeards hung proudly at her right temple, two Braids of Motherhood, one in the style of the Stiffbeards, the other in the style of the Longbeards, at the left temple. Any who saw the braids would know that, while Fíli was Silir’s heir, Kíli was _Thorin’s_. Thorin thought it was a foolish thing to do, but his sister would not change her mind, even when Thorin was the reason why Kíli remained without braids.

Thorin had tried to put them into the young Dwarf’s hair and the stubborn boy had kept his beard stubble in retaliation. He refused to have what his Uncle did not and it was a fight and a half to get him to even brush his hair regularly.

“Be safe, Darling,” Dís stated and Silri smiled as he pressed his forehead against hers.

“Always, Dear One,” Silri answered and then he was walking out the front door.

Dís huffed. “Sap,” she muttered.

“And you are, of course, not Namad,” Thorin responded and she growled at him as she punched him in the shoulder.

Thorin winced knowing there would be a bruise there come morning and then looked over at his sister. “Well, should I cook dinner?” Thorin asked.

He let out a grunt as Kíli rammed into him, the Dwarfling’s head slamming into that spot between his stomach and ribs. He sighed as he rubbed Kíli’s shoulders. “I’ll take that as a ‘don’t cook’ then,” he stated and Kíli nodded as he wrapped his arms around Thorin as best he could.

“Very well. Fíli, help your mother cook dinner,” Thorin answered and Fíli snorted, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Why should I do woman’s work?” he asked and Thorin felt his eyebrows rise slightly, unable to keep his usual stoic mask in place.

“Excuse me, young man?” Dís responded.

“I won’t lower myself to working in the kitchen!” Fíli snapped, his mustache braids nearly smacking himself in the eye.

“What lowering? Or do you want to starve if you find yourself stranded without help?” Dís snapped.

“Cooking over a fire in the wilderness is different from cooking in the kitchen! Outdoors is the man’s world, the kitchen, the woman’s!” Fíli snapped and Thorin felt his self-control disappear as Dís seemed to almost recoil in shock.

His sister, who had nearly _died_ bringing Fíli into this world, had nearly _died_ doing the same for his brother and he _dared_ … “What right do you have to speak to your mother in that fashion?” Thorin demanded, gently pushing Kíli behind him.

“I won’t do something that will get me mocked!” Fíli snapped.

“Mocked? By who? The very Men who _threaten_ your mother? By the very Men who do not care for you? The very Men who only accept you so long as you act like them? _They_ will mock you? For what? Learning how to survive independently instead of having to rely on another?” Thorin demanded.

“It is not a man’s place!” Fíli snapped and Thorin snorted.

Before Thorin could react, Dís seemed to regain her voice. “You will _not_ speak so disrespectfully to myself or to your uncle!” she snapped, straightening up to use the few inches she had on her eldest son against him.

“Why must I respect one who has been exiled from all Dwarvish strongholds?” Fíli snapped and then stilled.

Thorin clenched his jaw, even as he felt Kíli wrap his fingers in Thorin’s tunic. “This disrespect has gone on long enough! Your father let it go because he took it as you needing room to get some pebbles out of your boots, but even he wouldn’t allow such _blatent disrespect for your elders_ go unpunished! And out of respect for him I will _not_ throw you over my lap and spank you like the _bratling_ you are, but instead send you to your room and you can eat when you come down to the kitchen and cook for yourself or apologize to us, and everyone else you’ve disrespected even those younger than you, do you understand me young man?” Dís snarled and Fíli nodded slowly.

“Then _move_!” she snarled and Fíli took off.

Silence was heavy and there was a tug on his tunic, drawing Thorin’s attention to Kíli and forcing him to unclench his jaw. “What is it Kíli?” Thorin asked softly.

“I still share a room with Fíli. Can I stay with you?” he responded softly and Thorin gave a chuckling sigh, feeling some tension leave his shoulders.

“Of course. Want to help your Amad with the cooking?” he inquired and Kíli shifted nervously.

Dís chuckled. “I’ll hold dinner till you finish with the goats,” she stated and Kíli bounced excitedly before he took off.

Dís sighed heavily at that and Thorin turned back to her. “Thorin, I don’t know what to do with him anymore. He’s gotten worse and you know Silir doesn’t like spanking. I respect his wishes, but if Fíli continues acting like this, I won’t be able to respect them anymore,” Dís stated and Thorin sighed.

“Silir will respect the fact you had to do what you had to do. You respect his choices and he respects yours. He respected yours in the past when you spanked the boys and you respected his when he intervened with spankings, choosing another method,” Thorin answered and she sighed.

“Thorin?”

“Yes?”

“You’re taking Kíli with you to the Shire come Spring.”

“Yes Namad.”

* * *

Kíli looked up from where he was cleaning out the goats’ stall when he heard one of the cats mrewl-purr in that way she did when she was greeting Thorin, surprised to see his uncle kneeling down to pet the thick furred calico. He was murmuring to her in Khuzdul, scratching along her jaw before he looked up. He slowly eased away from the cat and walked over to where Kíli was standing in the stall, pretending that the calico wasn’t following him, _mew_ ing demandingly. “Kíli, how would you like to come with me to the Shire when I go back in the spring?” Thorin asked and Kíli felt his jaw drop.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you want to come with me to the Shire in spring?” Thorin repeated.

Kíli let out shrill squeal, which sent cats scattering, as he dropped the pitchfork made to his size and ran out of the stall to hit him. He felt Thorin hiccup even as he wrapped his uncle in a hug as tight as he could manage. “Yes, yes, yes, thank you, thank you, thank you Uncle Thorin! Thank you!” Kíli squealed and Thorin continued to hiccup as he hugged Kíli close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note as of April 2, 2017 (as I reread to work on the sequel and Real Sequel); I do NOT approve of spanking or corporal punishment. At all.
> 
> It doesn't help.


	18. Home of Stone

Thorin awoke with a start as a loud braying cut through the night, barely keeping from crushing Kíli, who was still spending the nights with him in his bed. The braying was soon joined by _very_ colorful cursing as Kíli whined and buried his head into Thorin’s pillows. “Mahal curse it, _Nori_ ,” Thorin hissed as he got out of bed, yanking on his boots and his heavy coat before he tucked Kíli into bed, the lad whining slightly at the loss of heat before settling.

Once reassured that his nephew had slipped back into sleep, Thorin headed outside, not surprised in the slightest to discover that their Warning Alarm wasn’t even outside to give the alert of a trespasser. Well, less trespasser, and more Nori, the pebble in Dwalin’s boot. “Ye see, this is why I love Striker,” Dwalin stated as Nori cursed more as he tried to slip from of Dwalin’s grip.

“I still say donkeys are evil beasts that, once the Dark One created them, regretted it instantly and unleashed them onto the world!” Nori snarled.

“Don’t say such horrible things about Striker,” Dwalin retorted and Thorin was sure that he was grinning like the maddest of Dwarves.

Striker was braying again and Thorin let out a long sigh. “Dwalin, will you get it to _shut up_ so we may all return to sleep or the Men will be coming out of their houses, thinking wolves are attacking. Again,” Thorin responded sharply.

Dwalin sighed and released Nori’s collar before he walked over to the barn, opening the door and slipping inside. “Nori,” Thorin greeted and the Dwarvish thief seemed to perk up.

“Thorin,” Nori responded brightly and Thorin, making sure the door was shut, leaned against the frame.

“I thought you wouldn’t return till I had left again,” Thorin stated.

“Oh…I was thinking I would check on Ori, and Dori, especially when I heard Ori managed to change a stall into a coop,” Nori stated, smirking as Dwalin’s curses began to carry into the night.

Thorin chuckled tiredly and let his head fall back, staring up at the dark sky. “Clouds already?” Thorin questioned.

“Lots of it north and east of here. It eventually had to come here,” Nori answered and Thorin sighed, his breath creating a barely visible cloud.

The snow was dirty from when the animals were allowed out this morning, though the clouds said they would remain inside tomorrow, more out of worry they would lose what they couldn’t afford to replace over anything else. The chickens had been kept closer to the barn than before once the coop had been moved to a stall and now that snowfalls were more common, they were mostly just shifted so they coop could be cleaned out properly. “It has been coming here, but I thought there would be more of a break,” Thorin answered softly and Nori snorted quietly.

“Snow everywhere. Makes me miss the south,” Nori answered and Thorin didn’t hesitate to reach out and shove the thief’s shoulder.

“Go get scolded by your elder brother. I am sure he has a whole new lecture for you now,” Thorin answered as he looked over at him.

Nori looked like Thorin had pronounced a death sentence. “Thorin, how could you do that to me?” Nori questioned.

“Well, you either go willingly, or Dori comes out here and grabs you by your beard and drags you back,” Thorin answered and Nori snorted before he quickly walked off, hands in his pockets.

“May Mahal always keep your tools sharp, Nori,” Thorin whispered before he pushed off the wall with a low groan.

He had to plan for travelling with a Dwarfling and start packing up the wagon already. He didn’t twitch as he felt someone lean next to him and he looked over at Dwalin. “Dís says yer takin’ Kíli with you, in the spring,” Dwalin stated.

“He’s sleeping with me now. He asked, when Fíli stormed off the day his father went to visit his father in the Ruby Halls, and Kíli hasn’t left, so I suspect he was sleeping in my room while I was gone,” Thorin answered and Dwalin grunted as he frowned.

“Fíli has been getting _that way_ lately,” Dwalin added.

“But do you think it is best to separate them? You weren’t,” Dwalin continued, though he cut himself quickly off before he finished the sentence as Thorin tensed.

“I never acted like Fíli! And I think some time apart might be good for them. Dís half ordered it, so she thinks so as well,” Thorin stated, staring up at the nighttime clouds instead of at Dwalin.

“What about Silri?” Dwalin questioned.

“He’s never questioned Dís’s choices before. Besides, Kíli will be able to write. I know someone who is willing to let me borrow a Rook,” Thorin stated.

Dwalin chuckled and they stayed there for a while longer till the snow began to fall upon the home outside of the Mountains.

* * *

Kíli was practically vibrating with excitement as he watched Uncle Thorin and Mister Dwalin finish packing up the wagon that was like a small house on wheels.

Amad had already helped him pack everything he would need in the Shire and had made him promise to listen to his uncle, which Kíli had agreed to without any hesitation.

And now, spring was here, and they were finishing the packing and soon they would be going!

Kíli began to bounce in place, even as he felt his mother trying to calm him. Uncle paused in the packing of the wagon to walk over and ruffle his hair, which had Kíli giggling, even as he tried to flatten his hair. “Your hair is a mess little one! Where is your comb?” Uncle Thorin asked.

“Nu-uh!” Kíli answered.

“Comb, now,” Uncle ordered and Kíli giggled as he ran back into the house, but he stilled upon entering it.

His comb was in the room he shared with Fíli. The forge was closed today, so Fíli was _in their room_.

And Kíli didn’t want to go anywhere where Fíli alone waited for him.

His older brother had changed since he started spending more time with the Men in the village, as his height and willingness to tone down his natural Dwarvishness allowed him to blend in more.

But that didn’t change the fact that Kíli was terrified of his brother and he didn’t want to have to face him.

He was _happy_! He was going off with Uncle to help in a forge within the Shire! And if he went into the room, Fíli was going to ruin it.

He hovered until he heard Uncle shout, “Kíli, we’re almost ready to go! Where are you?”

“In a moment! I haven’t got my comb yet!” Kíli shouted and he rushed to the room he shared with Fíli hesitating at the door.

He shivered slightly and gripped the doorknob, slowly entering the room. Fíli was staring out the window. “Get out brat,” Fíli snapped.

“I need my comb,” he stated.

“Why bother? This way you can look exactly like _Uncle Thorin_ with a rat’s nest instead of hair!” Fíli snarled and Kíli flinched back with a soft gasp.

Fíli tensed, but Kíli didn’t wait. He just darted into the room, grabbed the nearest comb, and ran out with a slam of the door. He clutched the comb to his chest for a few brief moments until Uncle Thorin shouted, “Kíli!”

“Coming!” he shouted and ran back outside.

Amad chuckled and nudged her forehead to his. “You be good, all right?” she stated, gently bopping his nose with her finger.

He scrunched his nose and tried to smile, but his happiness had evaporated like the morning mist in the sun.

“Kíli?” Uncle called and Kíli looked over at him.

“Time to go,” he stated and Kíli nodded excitedly before he stared up at Amad.

“See you in winter, Amad. Make sure Mister Balin takes care of the goats, they like him. And the cats need to be pet at least once a day. And the ponies like carrots, except for Jewel, she likes apples, and…Striker loves, absolutely loves, turnips, but don’t tell Dwalin I’ve been sneaking him some pieces,” Kíli whispered and she chuckled.

“I’ll remember, I promise,” she stated and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He smiled and rushed over to Uncle Thorin, who immediately swung him up onto the bench. Once Uncle was reassured that Kíli was settled, he hopped up, gathering up the reins as he did so. Kíli blinked in surprise to see that it was Onyx, the black gelding, and Ruby, one of the chestnut mares, that were the pair hitched up to the wagon.

“Try to be back sooner this time, alright Thorin?” Amad ordered.

“Autumn, Namad. I’ll keep him safe, I promise,” Uncle answered and with a flick of his reins and a sharp whistle, the ponies began to move.

Kíli squeaked and clung to Uncle Thorin’s arm as the wagon began to move. He buried himself into Uncle’s side and was surprised when he shifted to wrap an arm around Kíli as he continued to drive.

It was only when they stopped to camp around midday that Kíli realized he had grabbed Fíli’s comb, not his.

When he started to cry, clutching his brother’s comb, Uncle Thorin just picked him up and cradled him close. “What did I do?” Kíli sobbed out.

“Nothing, little one, nothing,” Uncle reassured softly as he ran comforting fingers through Kíli’s hair.

* * *

The smell spring filled the air as Bilbo walked down to welcome the Rooks back to the Baggins’ Rookery, unable to smile at their loud greetings, seeing that the missing Elder Rooks already had their replacements. It was Marigold, gentle Marigold, who had spent the winter with him, that told the Rooks of Belladonna’s passing.

It was Basil, grumbling, hard-hearted, Basil who started the Mourning Song of the Rooks for her.

* * *

Cypress and weeping willow branches were woven into a wreath, with periwinkle and rosemary settled in. A bundle of marigolds were in a bunch at the bottom, tied on tight with a black ribbon.

It hung on the green door of Bag-End, mocking Bilbo, and he stared at it, wondering who had put it up. Had it been one of his cousins, or a “well-meaning” aunt or uncle? He certainly hadn’t.

He hadn’t wanted the reminder and he twitched a bit when he felt Holman’s familiar hands resting just above his elbow on the far side while he opened it. “Tradition, Master Bilbo. Ma said to leave you be, or put it on the gate, but they refused to listen to her. Pa will move it, I promise Master Bilbo,” he soothed as he lead Bilbo unresistingly inside.

And then Holman shut the door behind them with a dull echo that seemed to resound far more in his being than the smial he once called home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cypress – Mourning
> 
> Weeping willow – Melancholy
> 
> Periwinkle – Tender recollections
> 
> Rosemary – Remembrance
> 
> Marigold – Grief


	19. Melting Heart

The soft scratch of quill on paper filled the quiet smial as the sounds of outside filtering through the open window. The ledger in front of him was filled with numbers and lists for each caravan, plans for the first four, as well as some outlines for some to go to Rohan, but that could only happen if Bilbo paid for guards. Or found anyone with the proper training to willingly guard a caravan of Hobbits and their goods to Rohan in the first place, not to mention finding Hobbits willing to go that far.

Maybe some that were born after the fifth and sixth child among the Tooks or Brandybucks, but Bilbo couldn’t send them if there were no guards. Bilbo sighed and focused back on his ledger, already making notes of what he would have to increase on the caravans and what he should probably cut back for each caravan.

Then there were those that would leave later in the spring, to the south. He had found, as it were, some Man caravans that would be leaving out of Bree and Bilbo would be sure to send Brandybucks that knew how to fight the Big Folk with that caravan. More scratches and he nodded in satisfaction at the set-up for the first four caravans of the season. He set the ledgers to the side and pulled out of his fine paper to write his orders to the caravan leaders on.

The scratch of quill on paper was soothing, filling up the smial, but not enough to keep it from echoing with silence. If he stopped working, the silence would fill up his study as well, and Bilbo didn’t think that he could handle that. He knew he couldn’t handle it, in fact, having spent too long in silence, but there wasn’t much else he could do. He had work and duties that took up much of his time indoors and no good reason to just get outside.

Bilbo didn’t bother to look up when he heard one of the Rooks enter through the window, nor did he stop writing when the Rook landed on his shoulder. “Bilbo,” Marigold croaked out and Bilbo looked up at that, turning his head to look at the Rook.

“Marigold,” he answered as he carefully placed his quill back next to the ink well.

“Bilbo!” she responded happily, flapping her wings slightly and Bilbo laughed as he carefully urged her off of his shoulder and onto his hand. “You said your first word in Westron!” he exclaimed as tears slid down his cheeks.

“Bilbo!” she crowed as she shifted to rub her head against his cheek.

Bilbo choked on his emotions as he gently rubbed her cheek along her head in return, the Rook chirring out a worried, “Bilbo?” when he continued to cry.

“These are good ones,” he croaked out in the Language of the Rooks and she made a happy sound as she repeated his name once more before she climbed up onto his shoulder so he could continue with his letters.

He let her and the occasional, “Bilbo!” echoed through the smial for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Thorin resisted the urge to sigh as he felt Kíli wiggle next to him in the bedroll, the third time in so many minutes. “Go to sleep Kíli,” he murmured softly as he ran a hand over Kíli’s hair, which only had the boy wiggling more.

“I can’t,” Kíli whispered excitedly.

“And why is that little one?” Thorin inquired softly without opening his eyes.

“We’re almost at the Shire,” he answered as he wiggled closer and Thorin resisted the urge to just pin his nephew to the floor.

It wouldn’t keep him still anyway. “Yes, but if you don’t go to sleep, we won’t get there in time,” Thorin answered softly.

Kíli wiggled one more time and Thorin let out a little grunt as Kíli suddenly dropped on his chest. He opened his eyes and stared at his nephew, who was now wrapping his fingers in his tunic. He let out a long sigh and smiled at Kíli as he ran his fingers through his nephew’s hair. “What’s the Shire like Uncle?” he asked softly and Thorin sighed.

“You’ll find out tomorrow, Kíli, now go to sleep,” he stated and Kíli whined.

Thorin tapped a finger to his nephew’s lips and the boy immediately stopped whining. “Shush. You’ll find out tomorrow,” Thorin soothed gently and Kíli sighed.

Thorin shifted, though he didn’t dislodge his nephew and closed his eyes again. It only took a few moments for Kíli to begin wiggling again. Without opening his eyes, Thorin shifted Kíli, despite the boy’s protests, and settled him so his ear would be pressed against Thorin’s heartbeat. Kíli wiggled again, even as Thorin began to hum softly, and Kíli gripped his tunic tightly. Thorin continued to hum for a few more moments, trying to think of a song that would calm Kíli enough to slip into sleep, but many traditional Dwarvish lullabies did not work for Kíli.

He had not grown up in a Dwarvish stronghold, but instead outside, in the world of Men. While he enjoyed being in the forge, he was happiest when he got to take care of the animals. He was an odd Dwarf, because he was not entirely a Dwarf in mannerisms.

There was a piece of the outside world in him, one he would always have, even if he adjusted to living within a mountain hall, should he ever go live in one. He rubbed Kíli’s back, trying to think of any song that would work when he remembered hearing a young Took Hobbit singing to her child. He continued to hum, mentally shifting the words around to fit his nephew, and he began to sing softly.

_“Little son, a golden cradle holds thee,_

_Shuheen sho, lulo lo!_

_And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee,_

_Shuheen sho, lulo lo!_

_In airy bower I'll watch thy sleeping,_

_Shuheen sho, lulo lo!_

_Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping,_

_Shuheen sho, lulo lo!”_

Thorin gently repeated himself a few times and continued to rub Kíli’s back until the dwarfling stilled, falling asleep on his chest. Thorin smiled softly at that and then closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep.

He would need all the sleep he could get come morning when a _very_ energetic Kíli woke up with the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is “The Fairy Nurse’s Lullaby” I believe, or a chorus of it at least. The rest of it goes really creepy really fast.


	20. Faint at Heart

“It is so green!” Kíli exclaimed and Thorin chortled as he guided the ponies down the well cared road, towards the Office of Lease Agreements.

“That it is. Now, do you remember what I told you?” he inquired softly.

“Uh-huh. Uncle or Uncle Nothir. And I’m still Kíli, but that’s because it is a nickname for Kílian,” Kíli answered brightly and Thorin nodded.

“Right. And maybe you’ll get some of Belladonna’s fine scones,” he stated as he nodded to young Holman Greenhand, who took off his cap to wave at them before he turned on his heel to run up the Hill to Bag-End.

Thorin laughed as he had the ponies come to a halt outside of the office. The black pony snorted and tossed his head, while the chestnut twisted her head around to nip at him. “Ai,” Thorin snapped, giving a small tug on the reins.

The chestnut stamped her hoof, but settled as Thorin locked the wheels and tied the reins around the loop on the bench. Thorin hopped down and then turned to Kíli. “Stay with the wagon. I have to sign some paperwork,” he ordered.

Kíli nodded cheerfully. “Good lad,” he stated and reached up to ruffle Kíli’s hair before he headed inside.

He would need to make some minor changes to the contract, considering that he had his young nephew with him now, but he was sure that this wouldn’t take long.

* * *

Thorin had underestimated the Hobbits’ love of contracts.

He had realized this after half an hour of being given the roundabout by the Hobbit, Mister Brownlock (the Hobbit owned the Office of Lease Arrangements, making most of _his_ living off of the Hobbits who had too much land and not enough time to look after it themselves), that this would take a great deal of time and had to request that he go eat, as he had his young nephew with him, and to put up the ponies before he could focus on this.

Now, with the ponies stabled and Kíli fed, Thorin was at a loss.

He could not bring Kíli to the office to sit through lease arrangements. The Dwarfling would not be able to handle having to sit and be quiet for who knew how long this would take.

On the other hand, there was no one he could…

“Uncle?” Kíli called as he tugged on Thorin’s coat.

“Yes Kílian?” Thorin responded.

“What about the scones?” he asked softly and Thorin nearly smacked his hand to his forehead.

“Right. How would you like to spend the afternoon there?” he murmured and Kíli beamed, even as he began to bounce on the balls of his booted feet.

“Really?” Kíli asked excitedly.

“Really. Come on, up you get,” Thorin stated as he knelt down and Kíli giggled as he hopped up onto Thorin’s back, clinging to his shoulders as his knees hugged Thorin’s ribcage.

Once reassured Kíli wouldn’t be slipping anytime soon, Thorin began to head up to Bag-End, muttering his thanks when Kíli made sure none of his matted mane got caught in anything.

* * *

Bilbo jumped slightly as a heavy knock echoed through the smial, a drop of ink flicking off the end of his quill to land on the desk. He immediately frowned at that and took out his handkerchief to rub at the spot even as another knock echoed through the smial. “Who could that possibly be?” Bilbo muttered as he returned the quill to the spot next to the ink well and turned from his desk, even as a third knock came on the heels of the second.

 _Someone_ was impatient, it seemed. “I’m coming!” Bilbo shouted as he walked toward the front door, the black band arm band feeling oddly tight around his upper left arm.

He adjusted it as he walked and unlocked the door easily, opening the round green door, his attention went to the wreath on his door instead of his guests.

The wreath was made of willow and cypress boughs tied together with a black ribbon and with numerous marigolds tucked into it. It was new, considering he had just thrown the last one into the fire a few days ago, and he ripped it off the door the moment his mind fully registered what he was staring at. With the wreath gripped tightly in his fist, almost to the point of breaking it, he focused on the guests on his front porch, determined to figure out if they were the ones who had done this, only to feel his breath trapped in his lungs when he saw his ‘guests’ were Master Nothir.

“Master Nothir,” Bilbo greeted shakily as he tugged at his days’ old clothes.

He was suddenly very aware of how unkempt he must look, his curls in disarray (not to mention just unclean), eyes shadowed with grief and shadowed even further with the circles that came from sleepless nights in a deadly silent Bag-End. “Master Baggins,” Nothir answered slowly and Bilbo ducked his head to avoid looking at him, surprised to find he was staring down at a young Dwarf.

The child would probably be ten years old, maybe a little older, were they a Man’s child, though as a Dwarfling Bilbo couldn’t begin to place their actual age.

Bilbo felt his eyes widen before he felt the tension he had felt though his body since the funeral fade as he smiled warmly at the child. “Oh, hello young master. My name is Bilbo Baggins, what is yours?” Bilbo responded and the child ducked a bit behind Nothir.

The tension came back at that and Bilbo felt his hand tighten on the wreath, causing the thin branches to snap and bite into his palm. “Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Won’t you please come in? Please excuse my appearance it has been…been a long few months,” Bilbo stated, forcing himself to look up at Nothir once more.

Master Nothir merely nodded, even as Bilbo stepped aside to allow them in. “Please wipe your boots off on the scraper,” he murmured quietly and the Dwarfling nodded as he did just that.

Bilbo closed the door and took a deep breath before he walked to the living room, tossing the wreath into the fire that was there. “Why did you do that Mister Boggins?” the Dwarfling asked, even as he heard Master Nothir hiss what could be a name at the child, most likely a boy.

“Because…while it is tradition for there to be a wreath on your door when you are mourning, you are also supposed to be the one who made it. As I haven’t made it, I don’t want it on my door,” Bilbo answered gently.

He did not bring up the fact it was incredibly improper to do that to another’s door and that they were not doing it to help him, but in hopes he would snap, allowing them to sweep in and take over. He did not mention that he was close to giving up, but the only reason he hadn’t was due to the fact that he didn’t think he could face his parents in the Garden of their Mother or the Forest of their Father if he did that. “And it is Baggins,” Bilbo corrected softly in a bid to remove himself from those thoughts.

He pulled out a clean handkerchief and began to wrap it around the worst of his cuts on the palm of his right hand. He fumbled with the knot as he tried to avoid using his teeth to tie it and nearly jumped out of his skin when calloused hands entered his vision, gently stopping his movements.

Well, that was nice. They were warm and gentle, despite the roughness of the calluses that came from forging and fighting over calluses that came from writing.

They were also making Bilbo feel warm for the first time since his mother’s death.

He slowly looked up to the owner of those hands, the tips of his ears flushing red when he remembered those hands could only belong to Master Nothir. He should probably try to sleep soon, if he was forgetting that there were only three people in the smial.

Bilbo forced himself to look into Nothir’s eyes instead of back down at the hands holding his and nearly pulled away in shock. For the deep blue eyes that met his did not hold the pity that the rest of the Shire seemed to stare at Bilbo with, but with sympathy and some of his own grief. “I am sorry for your loss Master Baggins and I am sorry for intruding on such a time. My nephew and I will leave, but first I want to make sure that your hand is actually cared for, and not just wrapped up to invite infection and the loss of your writing hand,” Nothir stated, his voice a balm to Bilbo’s long shredded heart, and looked closely down at Bilbo’s hand

“You don’t have to do that,” Bilbo blurted out the moment he realized Nothir meant to _leave_.

Leave and take the warmth Bilbo had finally found with him. He would leave Bilbo alone within this silent prison and he couldn’t handle that.

Nothir looked up from his inspection of Bilbo’s hand and frowned. “You need your writing hand Master Baggins,” Nothir retorted explained.

“I meant you don’t have to leave,” Bilbo corrected quickly.

It took a few seconds of dead silence for Bilbo to register that he hadn’t just thought it, he had _said it._ He swallowed thickly and looked away, eyes searching for anything other than the pity that would be there as he explained why he couldn’t stay.

This was probably why no one visited him actually. He was too desperate for company. He was too clingy when he received any, tried too hard to find reasons for them to stay for lunch, then tea, then supper, then anything else he could manage till they _had_ to leave by standards of propriety.

Bilbo jumped slightly when he felt Master Nothir’s hands shift and he looked down, surprised to find that Master Nothir was no longer just holding his, now unwrapped, hand. No, now Master Nothir was holding his injured hand, which had stopped bleeding, between his own like how Bilbo cradled the baby Rooks to get them used to him under their parents’ watchful eyes.

He tensed, eyes still tracing the calluses, noting the differences so he could commit this to memory while he mentally prepared himself (as best as he could at any rate) for gentle reminders that Master Nothir had things to do. The Dwarf most likely still had to set up his forge or prepare his forge or something much more valuable and important than _Bilbo_.

“All right, Master Baggins, we won’t leave,” Master Nothir intoned gently.

Bilbo blinked uncomprehendingly at his hand in Nothir’s for a few moments before the words processed.

The relief nearly had his knees buckle and made his head swim a bit. “You won’t?” Bilbo questioned, unable to stop the words from leaving him.

He hated himself for how small he sounded with that one sentence, but some part of him was just so _tired_ of being alone in the silence. He needed someone there, especially as his brain was starting to get a bit…fuzzy. “Not for a while, at least,” Nothir answered gently.

“Oh. Okay,” Bilbo answered as he swayed a bit in place.

His knees buckled then, as if the only thing that had been holding him up the entire time was his terror of being alone and with that terror relieved he was, at least temporarily, without support. There was a startled, “Mister Boggins,” and a shift in the grip around his hand as an arm caught him around the waist.

He made a distressed sound as his hand was released, because he liked that, he wanted his hand to still be held, and his feet weren’t on the ground and…oh, that was nice. This was better, being held close to Nothir’s chest, the warmth filling him up still. This was nice and warm, even if his vision was going out.

He really hoped Master Nothir and his nephew wouldn’t leave, because he was tired of waking up cold and alone.


	21. Faint Hearted

Kíli had known something was wrong when he saw the wreath on the door, similar to the ones that had been on the doors of the Men in Shadowstone. He knew someone had died and his thoughts were confirmed when a Hobbit opened the door looking as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.

It was obvious, to Kíli at least, that Uncle knew something was wrong as well with the way his body tensed slightly, as if he had just been punched. Personally, Kíli thought that the Hobbit who had answered the door (a Mister…Boggins? He honestly hadn’t been paying attention when Uncle Thorin had said the Hobbit’s name) looked worse than those from the Men in Shadowstone after a funeral.

He’d even go as far to say that the hobbit looked sick.

Kíli nearly jumped out of his skin when Mister Boggins looked away from Uncle and straight down at him. Kíli felt frozen by those eyes so tired and gone that Kíli thought the grief was going to swallow him up. “Oh, hello young master. My name is Bilbo Baggins, what is yours?” Mister Boggins greeted and Kíli couldn’t help but duck back behind Uncle to avoid the gaze, surprised when Mister Boggins seemed to become duller than when he first opened the door.

Then, to Kíli’s surprise, Mister Boggins invited them in.

* * *

Normally, Kíli would be bored out of his mind with having to sit to the side as adults talked about adult things. Normally, Uncle didn’t do this either, but then again, Kíli had never seen Uncle stare at anyone like Amad stared at Adad.

That soft gentle look, tinged with whatever other emotions were going on, careful in the handling of the grieving Mister Boggins. All right, _Mister Baggins_ , but Kíli had a feeling Mister Baggins needed something silly to brighten this place up and…oooooh, Kíli needed to write Amad soon because otherwise he would never get to tell…

“Mister Boggins!” Kíli shouted as he watched the Hobbit collapse, though he shouldn’t have worried.

Uncle Thorin was as quick off the training grounds as he was on it and, within moments, Uncle was holding Mister Baggins in his arms, cradling him close.

This wasn’t something he had ever seen his parents do before, and…yeah, Uncle was being protective. It was all there, in the way he stood with his legs braced and Kíli is sure the only thing that is keeping him from clinging tight to Mister Baggins was the fact Mister Baggins, now unconscious, looked far too fragile to be held so tightly. “Uncle?” Kíli questioned after a few minutes of them just standing there and Uncle immediately looked over at him.

“I’m sorry Kíli. I hadn’t meant to ignore you,” Uncle answered.

“That’s okay. But…um…shouldn’t we at least put Mister Baggins to bed and wait for him to wake up?” Kíli questioned.

“I don’t know where that is,” Uncle Thorin stated.

“I’ll find it!” Kíli answered and took off before Uncle could protest.

After all, if Uncle Thorin was going to stare at Mister Baggins like Amad stared at Adad, then Kíli should give them time to become like Amad and Adad.

That would be nice, Uncle having someone, because unless they were married to their craft (like Ori seemed to be). Or they were just not interested in sharing hearts like Amad and Adad then everyone should have someone special like his parents had each other.

* * *

Thorin had seen Dwarves two days dead that looked better than Bilbo Baggins conscious. Unconscious, Thorin had to resist the urge to put a mirror over Bilbo’s mouth as he looked worse than Dwarves three days dead.

Thorin truly wished both examples were exaggerations based off imagination, and, in his lap, even Kíli seemed to think that Bilbo looked horrific.

It didn’t help that occasionally Bilbo would twitch and make a soft, distressed, sound before stilling again, though still obviously distressed. “You should help him,” Kíli stated and Thorin gave his nephew a sharp look.

“And how should I do that?” Thorin questioned.

“Like you help me or Fíli when we have nightmares,” Kíli responded simply and Thorin resisted the urge to snort at that.

“This is not the same situation Kíli,” Thorin stated and Kíli frowned up at him.

“It isn’t that different,” his nephew protested and Thorin sighed.

“He’s an adult and not related to me,” Thorin pointed out and Kíli rolled his eyes, which had Thorin whacking him, gently, upside the head before he put his nephew on the ground.

“What was that for?” Kíli asked.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” Thorin responded and Kíli let out a long, gusting, sigh that almost had Thorin hauling him outside to run out the energy when another distressed sound from the bed cut through the air.

“And that can’t be good anyway and we’re the only ones here, so you should help,” Kíli stated from where he was wandering around Bilbo’s bedroom, which had been why Thorin had hauled him into his lap in the first place.

“Kíli…” Thorin began to protest, only to stop when a loud whimper interrupted him.

Thorin looked over at Bilbo and swallowed harshly at the tears he saw slipping out from clenched eyes.

He reacted before he could stop himself, wincing at the oily feeling of Bilbo’s hair, and how thin it felt as he ran his fingers through the limp curls. This was beyond just occasional whimpering, this was…

Thorin nearly yanked his hand away when Bilbo leaned into his touch, as if Thorin was the only contact he had had in months. He was pretty sure he was right considering how Thorin had never seen the other hobbits come within touching distance, let alone touch.

Bilbo remained unmoving as Thorin continued to run his fingers through his hair, the stillness occasionally broken by Bilbo nuzzling up into the touch. Thorin felt his shoulders sag slightly at that while Kíli wandered around the room. “Uncle, do you think…” Kíli began to ask, only to fall silent when Bilbo began to shift as if he was about to wake up.

* * *

There were fingers carding through his hair and Bilbo let out a long sigh, leaning towards the movement. Oh, this was nice.

He whined when the hand paused, relaxing when it continued and he could hear someone calling his name, though he couldn’t place the voice, he knew it was a safe voice. It was a voice he wasn’t sure of at the same time, but this was nice.

Mostly because the owner of the touch was not flinching away or hesitating in running their fingers through his hair, even though he was sure it was disgusting, considering he couldn’t remember the last time he took a bath.

As the fingers continued to run through his hair, he slowly felt himself wake up, even as his head pounded and ached from just behind his eyeballs down his neck and across his shoulders.

He wanted to know who was petting him, mostly because no one had touched him so…nicely or gently since his mother died. The Greenhands tried, but they could only lavish such kindness on him when out of sight of the population of the Shire.

Bilbo still isn’t sure if it would be the fact they were of a “lower class” that would shock the Shire or the fact they willingly touched Bilbo in any fashion that would. Either way, the entirety of the Shire (including those related to him by blood) would gasp and hiss and…

And he had guests.

He groaned softly as he forced his eyes open, despite how his head swam and ached, and how his eyes _really_ didn’t want to open, only to realize he was staring up at Master Nothir.

Master Nothir was the one who was petting his head so gently and Bilbo felt his ears heat up. “Master Nothir, oh…I’m so sorry! Oh, you must think me such a horrible host!” Bilbo protested as he tried to sit up, despite how his head swam and he started when the petting stopped and hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“At ease, Master Baggins. You are not a poor host, just a grieving one,” Master Nothir responded softly, one hand reaching up to cradle his face, briefly, before going back to running through his hair, just above his ear.

Bilbo felt his face flushing slightly at that, even as he stared at Nothir, and he practically jumped out of his skin when he heard the clatter of falling iron hitting stone and wood filled the air.

“Kíli!” Nothir bit out as he released Bilbo to turn towards the hearth, the fire having burned down to embers, where Kíli was standing next to the fallen over fire irons.

“Sorry?” the Dwarfling offered and Bilbo couldn’t stop the fond smile if he tried, even as he fought to make his blush go away.

It wouldn’t do for Master Nothir to learn of Bilbo’s _very_ improper crush he had on the smith after all.


	22. Young at Heart

After the incident with the fire irons, Master Nothir had walked over to his nephew and muttered at him in a language Bilbo didn’t understand. It was obviously a scolding, if the way Kíli was squirming and looking away was any indication. The longer Bilbo watched the scolding, his ears twitching on occasion upon hearing a rather harsh word, he noticed a slight furrow between Kíli’s eyebrows and Bilbo couldn’t help wondering if Kíli knew the language any better than Bilbo did.

After the scolding was done, the fire irons and their stand were set back in their place, Master Nothir dragging Kíli back over to the bedside with him. Kíli did not look particularly pleased about that, but he went easily none the less, and Bilbo was tempted to just offer Kíli some of the scones made from his mother’s secret recipe just to remove the disgruntled look from his face.

Bilbo shifted at that thought, carefully moving to the other side of the bed. “What are you doing?” Nothir questioned.

“I’m going to go make my mother’s scones, of course,” Bilbo answered and Kíli wiggled a bit in Master Nothir’s grip while the older dwarf frowned.

“You are my guests and I will not have _my guests_ in my ho…smial and not provide for them, so I am getting up and I am going to make my mother’s scones and there is nothing you can say to change my mind about it,” Bilbo continued when it looked like Nothir was looking ready to start arguing.

Master Nothir’s jaw shut with a click and the silence was practically _echoing_ as Bilbo made his way out of bed.

The silence was finally broken when Kíli asked, in a not too quiet voice, “Uncle, when are you going to go back to the lease place about the forge?”

* * *

“Master Nothir, I am not an invalid! I can keep Kíli busy while you take care of the lease agreement,” Bilbo answered and then paused, glancing over to where Master Nothir’s nephew was watching them.

Bilbo felt like they had been having this, rather pointless, argument for the entirety of the day, though it really hadn’t even gone on for half an hour. Bilbo smiled a bit at Kíli when he saw the Dwarfling already starting to look around. It was something Bilbo had done when those talked over his head, usually with the intent to talk over him.

“If Kíli doesn’t object, of course,” Bilbo added softly, subtly reaching behind him to brace against the counter as a wave of dizziness nearly overcame him.

Again.

Master Nothir grit his teeth slightly, even as Kíli jumped at his uncle. “Oh, please, please Uncle! I promise that I will behave as best as I can! Please please please say yes!” Kíli immediately began to beg, clinging to Nothir’s arm.

Bilbo smiled a bit at the scene, even as Nothir carefully pushed Kíli away from him. “Very well. You may stay with Master Baggins, as he has offered and does not seem to have any objections,” Master Nothir stated and Bilbo’s grip tightened on the counter.

“None whatsoever,” Bilbo reassured softly and Kíli bounced as he nodded.

“I’ll be as good as I can be,” Kíli promised and Bilbo resisted the urge to chuckle over that very specific promise, even as Master Nothir’s frown deepened.

He sighed then and gave a sharp nod. “You’d wreck the Lease Office anyway through pure boredom if I made you come with me,” Nothir conceded and Kíli practically bounced in place.

“We’ll be fine,” Bilbo promised warmly and then turned around to face the counter, ignoring how it made his head swim.

“Will you be around for Supper?” Bilbo inquired.

“Hopefully before then,” Nothir responded.

“Well, you can stay for Supper anyway. I have far too much in my pantry for just me anyway, though I promise it is all good, and having guests would be nice,” Bilbo responded, ignoring how the tips of his ears were heating up.

“We would love to, wouldn’t we Uncle?” Kíli interrupted and Bilbo smiled as he got out the needed bowls, spoon, and tray for his mother’s scone recipe.

“Kíli, can you do me a favor and run to the cold pantry to bring me two eggs from the bowl of eggs, a full bottle of milk, and the jar of butter? Butter first, and multiple trips are highly suggested,” Bilbo questioned and Kíli nodded energetically.

“Thank you. The cold pantry is at the end of the hallway, to the left,” Bilbo explained as he made his way to the main pantry.

“Aye, aye, Mister Boggins _sir_ ,” Kíli responded brightly as he stood up straighter and, upon saying ‘sir’ hitting his right fist on the left side of his chest before he ran off to obey.

“Did…he just salute me?” Bilbo asked and Nothir chuckled a bit.

“He did. Are you sure you can watch him? He’s at the age of endless energy,” Nothir questioned and Bilbo nodded as he collected the sugar, the salt, and the baking powder, which was a rather new thing to the Shire as Andolis Grubb had figured out how to make it so his wife could bake when her yeast allergy got so severe she couldn’t bake anymore.

Of course, Andolis had started selling it when the pair discovered baking soda was easier to keep than yeast and was great to keep on hand in case one’s yeast went bad, which had happened to Bilbo’s.

“I’m sure. Go, go! You need to go down to the Lease Agreements Office. Shoo,” Bilbo responded, waving the pre-measured sack of flour at Nothir carefully.

Master Nothir gave a nod and a slight incline of his head. “Thank you, Master Baggins,” Nothir stated and Bilbo shook his head a bit before he returned to the kitchen.

“Behave Kíli,” Nothir shouted into the smial and then he was out the door, even as Bilbo poured the sack of flour into the bowl.

He then walked back to his pantry to grab the smallest sack of flour with the premeasured sugar and the sack of baking soda after that. He had just finished mixing them all together before he accepted the butter from Kíli. “Thank you, lad,” Bilbo stated as he took the smallest spoon to scoop out the butter into the mixture, the sounds of little Dwarf boots running back to the cold pantry filling the air as Bilbo began to hum softly.

The butter would be finished off once he used it to grease the tray, but Bilbo knew he had more in the colder parts of the pantry so he didn’t worry. He paused in his humming to thank Kíli warmly as he accepted the last two ingredients from the child. Once reassured that the bottle was the correct measurement for a double batch of scones, he poured it into the bowl. Humming once more, he cracked the eggs in and began to mix, noting that Kíli was hovering at his elbow. “Kíli, why don’t you go to the pantry, across the hall, and pick out which dried fruits you would like in the scones?” Bilbo asked and nearly had to bite back his laugh at the look of pure _disgust_ on Kíli’s face from the suggestion of fruits.

“Fruits are Elf Food,” Kíli stated and Bilbo chuckled a bit.

“Also a Hobbit food. How about you try some and, if you like them, we can put _one_ into the scones for today and, the next time you visit we can put in another,” Bilbo stated as beat the milk and eggs together.

“What if I don’t like any of them?” Kíli inquired.

“Then I shall split the batter in two and you can have plain scones and I’ll have blueberry scones,” Bilbo responded brightly.

“Okay. What do fruits look like?” Kíli asked.

“The three bowls on the right are the best with scones, in my opinion. We’ll try others another time,” Bilbo said and Kíli trotted off to get the fruits.

He muttered something about Hobbits eating odd things, but came back rather quickly as Bilbo finished beating the milk and eggs together with a different spoon. “All right, these are apricots,” Bilbo stated and lifted one out to eat it.

Kíli eyed it and, hesitantly, followed suit, brightening up as he ate it. “It tastes like candy!” he exclaimed and Bilbo chuckled.

“That’s because fruits have sugar. All right, the next are blueberries and, after that, are raspberries,” Bilbo stated, not even having to eat any before Kíli tried them, bouncing slightly.

“Are you sure these are fruits?” Kíli inquired suspiciously as he chose the apricots to be used, stealing a couple of the dried apricot slices before he gave it to Bilbo.

Bilbo hardly minded, slicing up the apricots into the batter before he added the milk and eggs. He made sure to make it a generous amount and nodded. “Quite sure. These are just dried so they can be kept longer. I’ll find some fresh ones, once they come in season, and you can try them then, if you wish,” Bilbo answered warmly.

“What if I don’t like them when they aren’t dried?” Kíli inquired.

“Then I’ll cut off what you bit out of, if it is an apricot, and eat the rest, or just eat the blueberries and such. Hobbits don’t waste food, if we can help it, so it shall get eaten,” Bilbo answered and Kíli made a humming sound.

Bilbo just began to mix the milk and eggs into the rest of the batter, stirring as he went and pretending that he wasn’t amused by the fact Kíli was ‘subtly’ stealing more fruit from the bowls, Bilbo setting the remaining apricot slices next to the raspberries.

He continued humming and, as he sprinkled flour across the counter. “Mister Boggins, why are you sprinkling flour across the counter?” Kíli asked.

“So I can knead the dough,” Bilbo answered as he carefully scooped the dough out of the bowl and onto the lightly flour coated counter.

“Oh,” Kíli responded.

Some silence as Bilbo set the bowl in the sink, followed by, “What’s kneading?”

Bilbo smiled and carefully pulled the step that he had used as a child with his mother out from under the counter, smiling wider at Kíli’s surprised sound. “Well, come here and I’ll show you,” Bilbo stated and chuckled at the way Kíli scrambled over.

“Now, this is kneading,” Bilbo stated as he began to roll the dough into, more or less, a round shape before he began to push into it, pull it over, and push in again.

Kíli pressed against his arm as he watched, which had Bilbo overly aware of the fact that, despite their odd start, Kíli wasn’t flinching from him anymore. “And that’s how you knead. Scone batter doesn’t need much kneading, so I’ll flatten this out, cut it into triangles, and then it will be ready to bake and in about an hour, we’ll have scones,” Bilbo stated and Kíli bounced a little.

“Can I cut the triangles?” Kíli asked and Bilbo hesitated.

“I promise I am allowed and I’m good with a knife! Please?” Kíli stated and Bilbo nodded, stepping back to watch Kíli cut the flattened dough into triangles.

Bilbo had never seen such perfectly placed triangles in his entire life and smiled as Kíli helped him place them on the tray, once Bilbo had greased it.

As they sat down to wait for the first batch to be done, Bilbo was surprised when Kíli boldly leaned into his space and pushed a dried raspberry between his lips. He barely managed to insure it was actually _eaten_ before Kíli pushed a blueberry between his lips. The third time, Bilbo managed to stop him before he just shoved the fruit into Bilbo’s mouth. “Kíli, what are you doing?” Bilbo asked.

“Making sure you eat some of the natural candy Mister Boggins. After all, you should have some while we wait for scones,” Kíli answered as he pushed a dried apricot slice in, having transferred it to his other hand while Bilbo was fully distracted by Kíli explaining his actions.

Bilbo snatched his own dried fruit after that, deciding it might be best to just eat or Kíli would spend his time shoving the food into Bilbo’s mouth.

Bilbo tried to figure out how to scold Kíli for giving him food, but decided against it, instead stealing a raspberry from right under Kíli’s fingers. “Hey!” the Dwarfling protested and Bilbo smiled a bit.

“You’re a cheater Mister Baggins,” Kíli scolded.

Bilbo didn’t answer. He merely stood up to go check on the first batch of scones with a smile on his face

* * *

“Mister Boggins?”

“Yes Kíli?”

“Do you think I could write Mother after we finish the scones?”

“Of course Kíli. And I know just the Rook to send the letter,” Bilbo answered as he finished off the last of his allotted scones.

He started slightly as a heavy weight clambered onto his lap and it took a few moments too long to realize that it was Kíli who had landed on his lap and he blinked a bit as Kíli gave him half of _his_ last scone.

“I like you Mister Boggins,” Kíli stated as he hugged Bilbo tight.

It took a few moments longer than it probably should have before Bilbo hugged him back.


	23. A Home's Foundation

Thorin sighed as he trudged his way back up to Bag-End, the pack that held the majority of his and Kíli’s clothes slung across his back.

It had not gone well and now he was without a forge and what little coin he had was going to have to go to boarding the ponies instead of buying what he could for them. Thankfully, they liked the stables they were settled in, but Thorin wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up, even if he just took Kíli “camping” for however long this took.

He had hoped they he would never have to do this again. Never have to wait around to see if he could return to what had been a  _sure thing_  when he had left.

He knew it was to force him into the larger forge, which he wouldn’t be able to manage, not even with Kíli. It needed at least one other experienced hand and that wasn’t Kíli. He was just starting his apprenticeship under Thorin and Dwalin, nowhere near ready to start doing over half of what would need doing.

Kíli would spend all of his time working the bellows and fetching wood, water, and coal not learning anything of the metal, while the smaller forge was ideal, allowing Kíli to not only rush about doing all those chores, but time to also _truly_ begin working with metal.

Like nails.

Horseshoe nails in particular were a good starting point and if they were damaged, easy to melt down to use in something else. Kíli would be an expert on horseshoe nails by the time he applied for his Journeyman status within a Dwarven Hall, probably his father’s.

Then again, every smith was an expert on horse shoe nails when they applied for Journeyman.

As he finally reached the top of the road, he felt the tension run out of his shoulders at the sight of the windows of Bag-End glowing brightly, as if to welcome him.

Thorin shook his head a bit at the thought and headed to the gate. He frowned when the gate refused to budge and nearly had to take the gate off its hinges to get it open at all.

He huffed slightly, wondering why a gate that had swung easily in the late afternoon was now near impossible to open. He knelt down to look at it, scowling when he saw that it looked like someone had taken a rock to the hinges, doing enough damage that Thorin was now surprised he  _hadn’t_  taken the gate right off its hinges. With a soft huff, he carefully stood back up and shut the gate, his frowning deepening at how he had to fight it to shut closed again.

He would fix that the moment he got a forge.

Thorin walked up to the door and was about to knock when he saw a note tied to the doorknob. He carefully pulled it off and opened it in the light spilling from Bag-End’s windows to read it.

_Master Nothir,_

_The door is unlocked._

_Bilbo_

Thorin pocketed the note and opened the door to Bag-End, smiling at how the door swung easily on well cared for  _Dwarvish_  hinges, shutting it behind him. “Master Nothir?” Bilbo called as Thorin set the bag next to the door.

“Aye, Master Baggins,” Thorin answered as he wiped his boots off on the offered scraper and headed towards the voice.

Specifically, to the sitting room with one of the largest hearths that Thorin had seen within Bag-End.

He stilled instantly upon entering the sitting room, surprised to see Kíli curled up in front of the hearth, boots off and set on the stone, though out of reach of the fire, paper filled with scribblings in a half-circle away from the fire around the Dwarfling.

In a chair with a leather folder on his lap, was Bilbo, who looked more exhausted than when Thorin had left, and probably was, but unburdened of some great, horrific, thing as well.

The fire was catching his hair and, even dull and lifeless, Bilbo’s hair seemed like copper and gold. “And what did the little pebble get up to while I was gone?” Thorin inquired softly and Bilbo jerked out of his thoughts, the weight coming back onto his shoulders.

He almost seemed to shrink within the chair and Thorin, hesitantly, knelt down next to the arm, which had Bilbo starting slightly before he smiled at Thorin. “Well, we had scones and he discovered dried fruit tastes like candy,” Bilbo began and Thorin resisted the urge to hiss out  _Elf food_  like the curse it was.

“He fed me some of the dried fruit and half of his last scone, and then he wrote a letter to his mother, which Basil took off to…wherever it is you live, and then we went outside for a while and Kíli taught me about the rocks that are in and around the creek that passes through the Rookery. Apparently over…half of what makes it shine is quartz and he wants to collect some to make some…decorative pieces, and then we came back up here, I gave him a stack of cheap paper and things to draw with and…well, he drew for a great deal of time all these designs. I had started to collect them up but…well, on top of that, we spent a great deal of time just rushing about inside as well, as Kíli was hoping you would be back in time for supper. Did you eat?” Bilbo explained and Thorin nodded.

“Before I trudged up here,” Thorin answered.

“Did it not go well?” Bilbo inquired softly, his voice almost hazy, as if he were almost asleep.

Thorin resisted the urge to chuckle and wondered when was the last time Bilbo  _slept_. “No, it did not,” Thorin answered softly as he stared at Kíli.

He did not tell Bilbo about how Kíli was being “used” against him in hopes of forcing him to take the larger forge, as he wasn’t sure if Kíli was  _really_  asleep. The lad had a habit of pretending to sleep in hopes of learning things he should not learn, such as what he was being given for his birthday.

“Where are you staying?” Bilbo asked after a few moments of silence and Thorin resisted the urge to wince.

Of course Bilbo would ask that. “I thought I would take Kíli camping,” Thorin answered and he started slightly when he heard Bilbo make a soft protest and Thorin sighed.

“There is nowhere else, if I want to make sure that the ponies will be well kept,” he pointed out softly.

Silence curled through the air, heavy, and oppressive, the crackle of the fire in the hearth doing nothing to alleviate it. “You could stay here,” Bilbo murmured softly and Thorin looked up at him.

“What?” Thorin inquired darkly as he stood up, Bilbo following suit, though he swayed far more than Thorin did.

“Stay here. I have the rooms. Smials aren’t meant for just one. They’re meant to be filled past the brim and to be built more and more sprawling, crammed filled and loud and  _full_  of life and laughter and happiness,” Bilbo explained as he knelt down, continuing to pick up Kíli’s scribblings, which Thorin swore he would look through later.

“I don’t accept charity,” Thorin stated.

“Then it isn’t charity! Fix things around the smial! Just…stay here. The rains are about to start. You missed them last time, but they’re close. I can tell, beyond the Rooks grumbling about it,” Bilbo explained and Thorin tensed, ready to argue, when he realized that Bilbo wasn’t just asking to get them out of the, possible, future rain.

Bilbo was asking them to stay the same way he had begged Thorin to stay earlier, only without directly saying it and hiding behind, a probably honest, desire to ensure they would be dry. “Very well, we shall stay,” Thorin murmured softly and Bilbo paused in picking up Kíli’s scribblings, one of them held in his hand as if it were a glass bauble, to smile up at him before he focused back down on the papers, continuing to carefully tuck them all away.

Once they were secure in the folder, Thorin tied Kíli’s boots to his belt before he picked the lad up. Kíli whined and shifted slightly, burying his nose into Thorin’s collar and Bilbo smiled at them before he turned away. “I’ll get your bag,” Bilbo stated as he stood up, slowly.

Thorin said nothing, just held Kíli a little tighter. “There are a couple of rooms that are right next door to each other…” Bilbo began.

“Just one room. Kíli might have an…interesting reaction if he awakens alone is a strange place,” Thorin responded, feeling no guilt over lying through his teeth about his reasons for keeping Kíli close.

“All right,” Bilbo responded softly and led Thorin deeper into the smial.

Thorin was careful to count the doorways, noting that Bilbo was keeping to the right, fingers trailing along the wall before he pushed open a door. “This is one of the guest bedrooms Mother kept for her Ranger friends. They…they haven’t been around in about eleven years, but…it remains for them still. All of them. They trickle down the east side of Bag-End, with one to the west side for the injured or those who need sleep, though that’s more like two rooms merged together for four Rangers, but the ones on the east side are so the sun will wake them at the dawn. I figure you would want an early start,” Bilbo rambled as he walked in, the light from the hallway being the only thing that was spilling into the room.

He was surprised when the bag was placed at the foot of the low set, but rather large, bed, the folder set on the bedspread. There was a soft sound of movement and then there was a scratch of a match and…light filled the room. The wick was light and the lamp settled over it. “Just a candle lamp, not an oil lamp. Not all the Rangers know how to operate them, so just blow it out when you are ready to go to bed,” Bilbo explained and pattered over to a wooden chest against the far wall, opening it.

Bilbo began to pull out the bedding, moving quickly back to the bed, a heavy cedar scent filling the air as Bilbo dropped the bedding on the covered mattress. “Sorry…I hadn’t expected guests, so I haven’t had time to air out anything,” Bilbo whispered as he placed the folder on the bedside table and continued to work on making the bed, quickly.

“There. Well…good night Master Nothir,” Bilbo stated and quickly left, shutting the door behind him.

“You should’ve said good night back,” Kíli mumbled.

“You should be asleep,” Thorin whispered in return, even as he settled Kíli on the bed to help him change into sleeping clothes.

* * *

Thorin was starting to get…irritated with the Hobbit that owned the forges along the Water and it only grew when the Hobbit himself came down to ‘sort out’ the ‘issues’ with the forge _s_.

“Master Nothir, you must understand that the small forge is unsuited for one who is now travelling with a child,” Rufus Goldworthy, owner of both the forges by the Water, explained and Thorin resisted the urge to bare his teeth at the Hobbit.

Instead, he inhaled slowly and made his smile as pleasant as possible. “Mister Goldworthy, may I speak plainly?” he inquired and Rufus Goldworthy nodded while Mister Brownlock shuffled the papers on his desk.

“The small forge is best for me. I can easily use it without having to worry and it will allow me to keep a careful eye on my nephew as he does his chores in the forge. I understand, however, that it would be unfair of me to ask so much of you without offering anything in return. The small forge does not turn much of a profit, at least not as much of one as the large forge, and I understand this. Had I another experienced hand with me, I would not hesitate to accept your generous lease offer for the larger forge. However, I cannot, so instead…may I offer you half off of anything you need and priority work? The only exception being, of course, large pieces, or pieces I’ve been paid extra for to be done in a concentrated time frame,” Thorin offered, even as he mentally ensured that his smile remained pleasant and his voice remained almost…begging.

“Well, of course, I should have known. I will be more than happy to accept these new terms. A new lease agreement, Mister Brownlock, if you please?” Mister Goldworthy stated and Thorin kept his smile plastered on his face.

The moment he left the Lease Agreements Office with a copy of the agreement in his hand, the smile was gone and he felt like he had to unhinge his jaw from the way he had kept the smile there, though he didn’t physically do it.

He had ponies to settle in after all and he was sure that they would not be happy with him, which meant he would need Kíli.

And it would be a good to get Bilbo out of Bag-End, wouldn’t it?

* * *

“Master Nothir, why exactly are you in need of my help?” Bilbo inquired lightly as he followed the Dwarf smith and his nephew down to the Mistress Daisy Lightfoot’s animal trading and boarding.

She was the only one Bilbo would do business with as she had a better eye for ponies and other draft animals than any other Hobbit in the Shire. She also didn’t flinch away from Bilbo, though she still refused to touch him.

“Because the ponies don’t like Uncle,” Kíli supplied.

“I have never been around a pony in my life,” Bilbo reminded, even if that wasn’t entirely true.

He had ridden as a small faunt but not since and he hadn’t been shown how to care for the pony beyond how to make his small chubby hand lay flat to feed his mother’s favorite pony, who was apparently still alive and kicking, literally, as the mare was being as ornery as ever.

“There is never a bad time to start,” Kíli reassured as he glanced back to smile at Bilbo and Bilbo smiled in return.

He was surprised when Kíli instantly released his uncle’s wrist and ran back to clutch at Bilbo’s wrist instead, ignoring the way the Hobbits tensed at the action. Bilbo had been doing a rather good job at pretending he wasn’t living inside a bubble as of late.

He was not foolish enough to think that it wasn’t in any way related to the fact he was getting regular contact from a particularly clingy Dwarfling. “Mister Boggins?” Kíli questioned and Bilbo glanced over at him.

“Yes Kíli?” he inquired.

“If Uncle lets me, will you comb my hair?” Kíli responded and Bilbo glanced forward at where the blacksmith lead them along, though he missed the turn they were supposed to take.

“If he allows it, I will be glad to,” Bilbo answered hesitantly and Kíli beamed, holding a bit tighter onto Bilbo’s wrist.

* * *

“Master Nothir, come fer yer ponies?” Daisy called as they walked up to the long, low set stables sometime after Lunch, if Bilbo’s internal meal tracker was accurate.

It probably was.

“Quite, Mistress Lightfoot,” Throin answered as he smiled at her, surprised to see Bilbo stop Kíli from just wandering over to the field.

“Thank Oromë for that! That chestnut mare of yours seems to be close to her season as she’s gotten snappy. At least the gelding is well behaved. Many have offered to buy or trade him from me and were quite disappointed to learn I did not own him,” she stated and Thorin gave a small smile.

“I’m afraid Mistress Lightfoot, it is my sister who truly owns the ponies and if I were to sell or trade a one, she’d have my hide,” Thorin answered warmly and the Mistress cackled as she rubbed her cracked and calloused hands together.

“Ah, a lady after my own heart, she is. We like our girls tough, us Smallburrows,” she stated.

When Thorin merely raised an eyebrow, she grinned. “My maiden name. Lightfoot is who I married,” she explained and Bilbo nodded a bit from where he was still keeping Kíli from wandering.

Thorn just nodded and the Mistress waved her hand and walked past Bilbo with only a small sidestep. “Master Baggins. Already setting up another caravan? Because if you are, I’m thinking some oxen from the cask wagon, which I know you should be setting up right after the competition, which is this weekend, if I am not mistaken,” she stated, though Thorin frowned a bit at the fact she had side-stepped away from him.

“Oxen? I haven’t tried them yet, but that might make those caravan leaders a bit happier if they don’t need as much rest as the ponies. They take almost twice as long for the same distance and I know I keep those wagons under loaded,” Bilbo responded as he let Kíli go when the Mistress Lightfoot headed towards the field.

Her white curls were, mostly, tucked under a yellow headkerchief with white daisies embroidered around the edges, her dress a sturdy brown, in contrast to Bilbo’s fine black, for even his shirt was a sort of black, which irked Thorin slightly.

Bilbo should wear colors, warm colors that made Thorin think of warm summer nights with fireflies dancing through the air, not the black of tombs of long dead kings that made him look like he was death warmed over. “Will you be moving into the room behind the forge again?” Bilbo asked softly and Thorin barely managed to keep himself from jumping out of his skin.

Thorin glanced down at where the voice had come from, noting that Bilbo was watching, or more accurately staring at, Kíli. He would need to get a bell for the Hobbit if he was going to be staying around him for any length of time so he wouldn’t do that again. “That had been the original plan, but I think if I did that now, Kíli might decide to turn traitor and defect to Bag-End,” Thorin responded.

Bilbo laughed, loud enough to startle some ponies and real enough to have Thorin smiling softly down at Bilbo, a barely there twitch of his lips behind a close cropped beard.

(Kíli immediately began to mentally plot his next letter to Amad when he saw Mister Boggins laughing and Uncle Thorin smiling his really, truly, happy smile down at Bilbo’s head.)

* * *

Dís raised an eyebrow as the ill-tempered rook from last year returned, landing on the wooden gate of the field. Nori reached out for him and was immediately forced to retreat when the Rook lashed out at him with claws and beak, the harness he wore not hindering him in the slightest.

Just like last time.

Unlike last time, however, this attack had the addition of the Rook  _screaming_  obscenities at Nori in Westron. “I should pluck every hair from your head, you ill-mannered cur!” the Rook finished off and made a threatening sound when Dwalin approached.

“What can I do for you Master Rook?” Dís demanded and the Rook preened a bit.

“I like you. Please tell me you are… ‘Dís, the greatest and most wonderful Amad of all time and with the most beautiful of beards and the shiniest of beads…’ and that point I started tuning him out because he was repeating himself a bit,” the Rook greeted and Dís smirked a bit.

“I am,” she responded.

“Oh good. Arm up if you please, that’s a nice Dwarf lady,” the Rook stated and landed on her outstretched arm.

His back was presented to her and Dís fished the letter out of the canister on his back, which had the Rook flying off to land on the roof. “I’ll wait here for your reply. Bilbo’s Dwarf has returned and I want to see if I can snag some of the matting in his hair for my beloved’s nest,” the Rook stated and Dís snorted as she headed inside to read the letter and return to carding out the sheep’s wool for spinning.

Her husband would, hopefully, return mid-spring and would not be too upset that she had sent Kíli with his uncle to the Shire. If they had this fast of a letter service, she was pretty sure that he wouldn’t mind too much.

With a smile she opened the letter and set rocks on the corners so she could read as she carded, smiling at the mix of Westron and Cirth writing.

_Dearest Amad,_

_I am writing to you with the most exciting news! Uncle is in love!_

Dís nearly dropped her carding tools in shock at the words and had to reread it, twice, before she agreed that was, in fact, what she was reading.

She continued, skeptical of why her dear son thought this.

_I know this because Uncle is staring at Mister Bilbo Baggins like you stare at Adad! There are other things too and I may be wrong, but I am pretty sure that Mister Bilbo returns Uncle’s affections. He is also really nice, but he seems strange too. Of course, that might be because he’s not sleeping or eating well._

_I think his mother died recently._

_He made me scones and let me have things to draw and write with. He actually asked if I wanted a desk and he had one that was a bit too large for me, but otherwise perfect! Not like Master Balin’s, of course, but more like Ori’s when he was first starting out as a scribe._

_Even if I am wrong and Uncle doesn’t love him, and I don’t think I am wrong, can I adopt Mister Bilbo anyway? I’m going to see if he’ll comb out my hair, even if Uncle says no. Unless you say no._

_Then I will write, “Sorry.”_

_I like him._

_Anyway, the Shire is really green and healthy. Mister Bilbo had me try dried fruits and they tasted like candy! We are safe and Uncle is having some problems with the Forge, but I think that will be cleared up soon._

_I love you, Amad._

_I hope you and Adad, and Fíli are well. Give my love to everyone, especially Fíli and tell him I am sorry for accidentally taking his comb with me._

_Love,_

_Your Little Ingot_

Dís smiled a bit at the letter, still carding, when she paused and a sly smile spread across her face. Once she was done with this set of carding the wool and spinning it into yarn, she would have to write a reply. With a nod, she continued her work, pretending not to notice when Fíli ‘snuck’ into her workroom to read the letter over her shoulder.

When he slipped back out, she began to hum softly as she worked on prepping the wool she had carded for spinning.

* * *

“Took you long enough,” the Rook grumbled as he glided over to land on her arm, the late afternoon sun catching his wings to make them almost purple at the edges.

“I have work to do,” she reminded him sharply and the Rook grumbled softly as she placed the returning letter to her son in the canister, closing it tightly.

“I’m going to hit the rains at this rate,” the Rook grumbled as he took off before Dís could offer him any food.

“What a curmudgeon,” she muttered as she returned to her workroom to continue the day’s work.


	24. A Home on the Clouds

Thorin twitched awake for the third night in a row, Kíli whining softly before turning further into the bedding, slipping back into sleep. “That’s it,” Thorin grumbled when he realized what had awoken him from a sound sleep was Bilbo shifting things in his study.

For the third night in a row.

He normally wouldn’t mind being woken, except he knew Bilbo would not sleep and, he was starting to mind for _after three nights in a row_ and having to work in the forge from the early light of dawn till dusk on the limited, poor, sleep. All in all, he was getting a bit overtaxed by it.

He sighed as he carefully slipped out of bed, tucking Kíli in securely before he went to his pack, pulling out a packet of herbs Óin gave him to take if he couldn’t sleep, and, quietly as he was able, left the room. He walked down the hall to the study and paused at the doorway, scrubbing his hand across his face.

Bilbo was working on his ledgers again. “Master Baggins,” he greeted softly and Bilbo nearly fell out of his chair when he jumped in surprise.

“Master Nothir! I am sorry, did I wake you?” Bilbo inquired nervously.

“Bilbo, this is the third night in a row. Why aren’t you sleeping?” Thorin inquired softly and he watched the way Bilbo’s ears turned red.

“Oh just…can’t,” Bilbo answered softly.

Thorin slowly entered the study, surprised that Bilbo’s ears went redder, eyes jumping to his collarbone (and sleep deprivation made him realize how inappropriate it was to walk out in his sleeping clothes) before back up to his eyes. “Would you mind some help?” Thorin asked hesitantly.

“With what?” Bilbo questioned hesitantly.

“With sleeping. My cousin is a healer and he gives me a packet of herbs for some tea that puts me to sleep. I’ll make sure you get safely to bed and, for once, you’ll get a good night’s sleep,” Thorin stated.

“Are all Dwarves as blunt as you?” Bilbo asked.

“No,” Thorin answered and Bilbo looked ready to get snobby, which he did sometimes, when Thorin interrupted with a simple, “They’re usually worse.”

Bilbo’s mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked together and Thorin chuckled. “So…do you want the tea?” Thorin inquired softly.

“Does it do anything else?” Bilbo mumbled.

“It can be a bit like alcohol, only without the hang-over,” Thorin explained and Bilbo sighed softly before he nodded.

“All right then. Up you get. You will probably want to be in your chair instead of on this high stool…thing,” Thorin answered.

“It is a chair,” Bilbo muttered, even as he slid off of it.

Thorin immediately reached out to catch him when he stumbled and he carefully helped Bilbo to his chair in the sitting room, blowing out candles as he went. He would put out the oil lamps later, after he got Bilbo to bed. Once Bilbo was settled, Thorin went back to the kitchen to heat up the kettle and portion out the herbs. They were meant to become a loose leaf tea and here Thorin hesitated. He had a feeling giving Bilbo a full dose would be…bad.

Too much had fatal consequences while too little just meant it took a little while to kick in. He gave Bilbo a third of the dose he would take and poured the boiled water over the herbs. He nodded a bit when the color became near to what it should be and carried it over to Bilbo, who drank it down the moment it cooled slightly. “How long does it take?” Bilbo asked in a heavy voice.

Thorin carefully took the mug from Bilbo. “It takes a little time. I’ll put the mug in the sink and then to bed,” Thorin stated as he walked over to set the mug at the bottom of the sink.

He walked back to Bilbo and smiled a bit to find Bilbo slumped in the chair. “Come along Master Baggins,” Thorin murmured softly as he picked him up and Bilbo made a sound of distress.

“I like it when you call me Bilbo,” Bilbo mumbled and Thorin blinked a bit in surprise when Bilbo pressed close briefly, though without touching any of his skin that was showing, before relaxing back.

“I really care ‘bout you…you know. I think ‘m in love wit’ you. Surprisin’, ‘cause you’re all stubborn and…strong, but you make me feel…feel…warm and cared for,” Bilbo babbled as he clung just a bit to Thorin. “Almost wanted. No one wants me…not even…not even my kin! Won’t touch me or let me in, keeping their distance, as if I am…am…a…con…con…infection that will spread and harm them. They just want me g…g…,” Bilbo continued, his voice slowly tapering off as the herbs finally kicked in before Thorin could think of an answer.

He took a deep breath in hopes of calming himself down as his heart pounded in his chest. Bilbo had said that he cared for him, loved him even, and a smile was creeping onto his face, hurting a bit from his lack of true smiles, but filling him with a soft joyful warmth he had not felt in so long. He tightened his grip slightly on Bilbo as he carried the Hobbit gently to his bedroom. As he tucked the Hobbit in, making sure he would be warm, Thorin couldn’t help but wonder if his heart would eventually slow back to its usual pace, or it would beat like it was trying to bruise his ribcage for the end of his days at the mere thought that Bilbo loved him back.

Thorin took another deep breath, but it did little to calm him down and he returned to his own room. He could feel the smile still on his face as he settled under the covers once more, Kíli immediately latching onto him once he was in arm’s reach.

He would have to tread carefully if he wanted to reassure Bilbo that he was honest with his affections, which meant courting Bilbo the Hobbit way so there was no confusion.

“Sleep,” Kíli mumbled and Thorin chuckled softly before he nudged Kíli’s forehead with his own.

“Sleep,” Thorin agreed and cuddled his nephew closer before he slipped back into Amabûnbuznaz’s embrace.

* * *

Thorin chuckled softly as Kíli woke up at Thorin’s gentle prodding, trying to bury himself further into the bedding. “It is time to get up Zundushmim,” he murmured tenderly and Kíli whined softly, even as Thorin carefully peeled back the quilt, ignoring how Kíli tried to wiggle under the pillows.

He could smell the bread Bilbo was baking as he did every morning and thought of Bilbo back in his kitchen at Shadowstone, making breakfast for him, with messy curls shining in the light of dawn. His Hobbit would probably make breakfast for everyone, smiling as Kili would come rushing in at the smell of it, nearly knocking him over. He probably would have already this morning if he wasn’t more asleep than awake, and Thorin smiled as he began to work on getting Kíli sitting up.

His hair was a mess, as it always was in the mornings, and, as always, Thorin knew he wouldn’t have time to work out the tangles, instead doing a quick enough comb so the knots wouldn’t build up too badly before pulling it back in a ponytail. Kíli whined at all the moving and Thorin didn’t hesitate to drag him to the washroom attached to the guest room they were in so he could clean off Kíli’s hands and face.

Kíli whined and tried to pull away from the slightly chilled water, though Thorin just followed him, wondering when he got good at this, and what Bilbo was like in the morning. If he would burrow himself into the bed, trying to catch a few more moments of sleep or would he awaken the moment his eyes opened, tinged with sleep even as they cuddled together before the dawn crept across the sky. Thorin resisted the urge to laugh not only at his nephew’s stubborn insistence to stay asleep, but also at his own thoughts, and got Kíli dressed instead, nudging his forehead carefully against Kíli’s forehead, Kíli sleepily returning the gesture.

Once reassured that they were both dressed, as he really didn’t want to give Bilbo a fainting spell (or worse), Thorin straightened Kíli’s coat one more time, smiling at the mumbling complaints that came from the action and stood up to lead him to the kitchen. They would, barely, have time to get some breakfast in before they had to hurry to the forge.

When Kíli grumbled about the time, Thorin chuckled and tugged his nephew closer to him. “We need to get the forges light by the dawn,” Thorin whispered and Kíli looked about ready to repeat his complaint when he seemed to perk up, the smell of freshly baked bread finally registering in his mind.

Kíli was then off and away, dragging Thorin towards the kitchen. He picked up speed through the hallways, most likely giving Bilbo ample warning with the way their boots thunked against the wood, Kíli releasing Thorin to enter the kitchen on his own. Upon reaching the entryway to the kitchen, however, Thorin stopped.

Bilbo was standing there with an open basket to his side and preparing a lunch for them as well. The light coming in through the windows turned his hair shades of copper, brass and gold, while his skin was given a warm golden hue, the smile upon Bilbo’s face had his body aching it kiss it.

His One looked like an ethereal being standing there smiling at Kili as the lad sat down to eat breakfast.

“Master Baggins, I hope you had a good rest last night. I had feared that the herbs would have kept you asleep longer or would have made you to very groggy.” Thorin greeted, as he finally willed his body to move.

“Oh, not at all. I actually woke up quite refreshed and realized I was almost late in making sure you had breakfast before you headed down to the forge. I didn’t have time for everything to be made from scratch, so I decided that I’d heat up some pastries that were left over that I hid from your nephew and then…I thought I could quickly make some bread for your lunch, along with some slices of sausages I had in the cold room and that way you could have lunch later without having to leave the forge as I am sure you’re going to be busy all day,” Bilbo rambled and Thorin felt a smile forming on his face at the way Bilbo let his words wander.

He wondered if Bilbo would ramble on like that in bed. If his words would trip over themselves until it was just mindless babble and Thorin had to duck his head to hide the slight blush that appeared on his face. He shouldn’t be thinking of such things with his nephew in sight!

“Thank you Bilbo!” Kíli greeted and Thorin resisted the urge to groan at the lack of respect.

“You’re welcome Kíli! Now, you two better hurry or you’ll never get to the forge on time,” Bilbo stated and Thorin looked up to silently thank Bilbo, trying to keep a neutral expression (Dwalin said his ‘neutrality’ looked like he was plotting someone’s murder), though he knew he failed when he saw that Bilbo was smiling at Kíli, and not him “You’re right Bilbo! Come on Uncle!” Kíli answered as he shoved the basket into Thorin’s grip, while stuffing his face with the last bit of breakfast on his plate.

Kíli then grabbed his wrist and they were headed out the door,

They were halfway to the forge with Thorin realized that he didn’t get to eat the breakfast Bilbo had made.

* * *

Thorin smiled as he wiped the soot and sweat from Kíli’s lowers arms, down to his hands, Kíli giggling like mad as he tried to wiggle out of Thorin’s grip like a worm. “Uncle!” Kíli protested and squeaked when Thorin took the chance to wipe off his face with a clean portion of the flannel.

“There,” he stated with a smile as he released the wiggling child, Kíli still giggling.

“My you are a dirty one,” Bilbo’s voice stated and both Dwarves looked over to find Bilbo standing there, a small covered basket held in his hand with _Basil_ on his shoulder.

He glowered at the Rook and the Rook cackled before he took to the air. Thorin tried to scramble away from the now swooping bird but it just ended up with him falling on his backside while Kili laughed at the sight. Thorin’s face flushed in embarrassment on acting such a way in front of his One. “Uncle, why are you afraid of Basil?” Kíli asked as the Rook stopped tormenting Thorin and landed on his arm, with a canister filled with letter for him to read as Bilbo walked over to help Thorin up.

“Your uncle and Basil don’t get along very well, but this is true for most that Basil encounters,” Bilbo stated, giving the Rook a look as Thorin stood up,  helping to brush off the dirt and soot from Thorin’s shirt.

“I didn’t think _anyone_ got along with that thing,” Thorin growled as Kíli extracted the letter.

“Basil’s not a thing!” Kíli protested as Basil cackled out, “The fine lady Dwarf likes me just fine.”

Thorin had to resist the urge to groan when he heard that, Kíli immediately starting to chat with Basil as he clutched the letter. For a few moments, Thorin eyed Bilbo, wondering how to broach the subject of their shared feelings before he decided he needed to get Kíli out of the area before he did. He eyed the letter contemplatively and smiled a bit. “That for me Kíli?” he inquired, knowing exactly how to send Kíli scurrying out of earshot and Kíli made an indignant noise that was akin to one of his ( _the_ , not his, Thorin did _not_ have cats) cats having their tail trod on.

“No! This is _my_ letter! Write to Amad to get your own!” Kíli protested and almost scurried off with the letter, only for Bilbo to stop him.

“Here. Fresh blueberries,” Bilbo stated as he handed over the basket.

Kíli beamed and, carefully, thunked his forehead against Bilbo’s (though it still made the Hobbit sway slightly) before he ran off, Basil flapping his wings slightly to keep his balance on the Kíli’s arm.

“That should keep him occupied for a few moments,” Thorin stated and Bilbo laughed a little.

“Oh? You wanted to get me alone Master Nothir?” Bilbo inquired with a smile that was slightly teasing and…wrong at the same time.

The smile almost seemed like it was turned inward, sharp like a knife, sharpened till it would cut straight to bone with only the slightest pressure against the skin. “Yes,” Thorin answered before he could rethink his answer and surprised when Bilbo seemed to become like ice upon a pond.

Still, mouth open a bit, eyes widening slightly, before his mouth moved uselessly, the skin around his throat bobbing as he tried to voice his question, and Thorin found he was staring at someone who did not know what do with someone wanting to be alone with him; someone who did not expect to ever be faced with this situation.

Thorin couldn’t tell Bilbo that he was loved and cherished without risking his One shattering under the truth and rage burned at the back of Thorin’s throat, twisting his gut into knots as he tried to figure out how to save this situation. “A customer said she wants me to design something for her daughter, since she’s getting married in a month, or something like that, and she was telling me some flowers I should use, but I do not understand, and I was wondering if you had a book on flowers ”

“Oh…oh…yes, of course, every hobbit has a book you see, Hobbits put meanings to flowers. It won’t surprise you to know basil, in the language of our flowers, means _hate_ ,” Bilbo answered, that too sharp inward turned smile back on his face.

“You can borrow mine while you design…whatever it is,” Bilbo stated with a nod.

“A functional set of coat hooks for a front hall,” Thorin answered and Bilbo let out an honest chuckle, the sound making Thorin’s heart flutter and stutter.

“A Brockhouse?” Bilbo asked.

“How did you know?” Thorin responded.

Before Bilbo could answer, he was nearly knocked right off his feet when Kíli slammed into the Hobbit. “Mister Bilbo, are you going to join us for lunch?” Kíli asked and Thorin let out a snarled curse when the Rook, who must truly be a Balrog, went for his head again.

* * *

Kíli grinned as he opened the letter, Basil having moved up to his shoulder. “Do you really like Amad?” Kíli asked.

“She’s perfect. Read the letter, I sped back here for imp!” the Rook demanded and Kíli giggled before he began to read the letter.

_My dear little ingot,_

_I nearly dropped the wool I was carding, and my hand carders, when I read your little piece of news! All these years, seeing your uncle mope around, and here I am, in Shadowstone while he’s apparently lighting up as if he’s absorbed the glow of the blue lichen into his own body._

_I know you won’t understand that dear, but your uncle would._

_Report all you can, but give the Rook a week to recover and give the condensed dear. You can do it, I have faith in you._

_To answer your question about Mister Bilbo combing out your hair, that is acceptable but you must remember to tell him that he’s not allowed to braid your hair unless it is to practice for your uncle’s hair._

_The chestnut, Beryl, gave birth to a healthy, charcoal looking pony filly, so we’ll be keeping her and you were right about that pony stallion being the one to get her pregnant and not the donkey, though with Jewel that might not be so, meaning your uncle will be using geldings next year._

_Everyone sends their love back._

_I love you with all my heart,_

_Amad_

Kíli normally would have started giggling and doing a jig over being right, but the fact there was no special note from Fíli, no matter how he turned it over, and he sighed. “What’s wrong fledgling?” the Rook asked.

“My brother didn’t write me,” Kíli mumbled.

The Rook fell silent at that and shuffled a bit, before he carefully looked over. “Well…Bilbo looks in need of a rescue…and I see some loose hair I think I can steal,” Basil stated and took off.

Kíli squeaked and nearly overbalanced before he ran over to crash into Bilbo as he hugged him tight while he swallowed back his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amabûnbuznaz = (the) dream-man of garden origins or…Irmo, also known as Lorien, Master of Visions and Dreams.
> 
> Zundushmim is a smush of two words based off what I saw.
> 
> Zundush = bird
> 
> Mim = little
> 
> I almost did Zundushel (el coming from “little of little”), but that didn’t look as cute as Zundushmim, so it probably isn’t correct, but it looks cuter and I am sticking with it.


	25. The Frame of a Home

“How did your hair get so tangled?” Bilbo asked Kíli as he carefully worked out a rather nasty knot at the back of Kíli’s head, the sun shining around them.

He had expected better of Nothir in regards to his nephew, but it seemed he was just as hopeless with his nephew’s hair as he was with his own. The desire to work out each and every mat in Nothir’s hair had only grown since he had been given the herbs to help him sleep nearly two weeks ago now, when he thought he had said something about his rather ridiculous, very improper, crush that had grown.

Oh, it had grown, bloomed, into love and Bilbo wanted to strangle that Dwarf, if it wouldn’t completely alienate him from the Dwarfling sitting before him. “We don’t really have time to comb it in the mornings,” Kíli stated and Bilbo huffed softly as he continued to carefully work on the tangle.

“True enough. Did your uncle explain why he was taking two days off instead of just one?” Bilbo responded, letting out a soft exclamation of triumph as the tangle gave way to smooth hair.

“Yep. He said this way we could have a day together, even if it was just planning out commissions,” Kíli explained as Bilbo ran the comb through the untangled portion of the Dwarfling’s hair again.

While the hair looked coarse, even after it was untangled, it was in reality very soft and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if Nothir’s hair would be just as soft. If someone with patience, and gentleness took the time to carefully untangle each section till it was smooth like Kíli’s section of untangled hair and…

“Bilbo?” Kíli called and Bilbo noticed he had made a small braid out of the hair he had already untangled.

“Sorry Kíli. I just…went on habit,” Bilbo explained as he undid the braid, combed through the hair once more, and worked on the next set of snarls.

“Habit?” Kíli asked hesitantly and whined a bit as Bilbo accidentally tugged a bit too hard on a portion of the tangle.

“Sorry Kíli. And yes. I used to comb and brush, and braid, my mother’s hair for years, from the time I was old enough to braid till…till she returned to the ground,” Bilbo answered, choking on his words slightly as he continued, carefully, working on the tangle.

He remembered being so careful when her hair became like spun sugar in his hands, terrified that a too sharp tug would remove all that remained from her head. “Brushed?” Kíli inquired excitedly, pulling Bilbo from his memory.

“Brushed…oh. Does Dwarf hair come out a bit like this?” Bilbo responded and he showed the fine threads that were caught in the comb.

While common in Hobbits, he wasn’t sure about Dwarves, but Kíli didn’t seem freaked out. “It doesn’t happen often, but more so if we don’t take care of our hair every day. When Uncle combs out his hair, there is going to be a _lot_ of hair falling out like that,” Kíli stated and Bilbo chuckled.

“All right then,” Bilbo answered and focused on the tangles.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes Kíli?”

“Can I see your Mother’s brushes?” Kíli inquired, almost bouncing in place until Bilbo pressed a hand to his shoulder to keep him from bouncing.

“You may. Her nice ones or her casual ones?” Bilbo asked.

Her nice ones were given from his father as an anniversary present and, originally, had only been used on special occasions, though Bilbo had never noticed a difference between using the silver handled and the wooden handled brushes, the wooden handled brushes being her casual brushes. After his father’s death, however, Belladonna had insisted on the silver brushes being used whenever she sat in front of the mirror, so she could see the glint of them when the sun hit them. Toward the end, she had hurled the wooden brushes, in their case, across the room and Bilbo never used them again.

She had probably only thrown them because Father hadn’t made them.

“Both,” Kíli stated.

“Both?” Bilbo questioned as he finished combing out the tangles, making sure the hair was smooth and free of even the tiniest of snarls before he moved onto the next section.

“Yep,” Kíli answered.

“All right. I’ll pull them out _after_ I comb out your hair,” Bilbo stated and focused on the tangled mess before him.

He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of settling Nothir out here, in the sun, while Bilbo untangled every mat slowly and carefully. “Bilbo?”

“Yes Kíli?”

“Are you going to move to the rest of my hair yet?”

Bilbo flushed a bit and quickly moved to the next tangle. “Yes, yes, of course. My apologies Kíli,” Bilbo answered and Kíli giggled a bit.

“That’s okay.” Kíli responded and began to hum a cheery tune as Bilbo focused on combing out his tangles.

“You know, I think I have just the ribbon to tie your hair out of the way after this,” Bilbo stated and Kíli only hummed in agreement to that as Bilbo combed through detangled hair, smiling at the way the tangles were coming undone easier the longer Bilbo worked.

* * *

“Oh,” Kíli breathed out as he stared at the silver hair care vanity set that Mister Bilbo was showing him, still nestled in their velvet lined box.

He really couldn’t think of anything else to say, because the workmanship put even his _uncle_ to shame.

The handles had been crafted so that they looked like linden tree boughs woven together in a way that was easy to grasp, the ‘branches’ even making up the backs, though each had different flowers on them, the sole exception being the comb, which was just the linden tree branches across the handle. The hair brush, which was the only piece of the vanity set that had flowers Kíli recognized (peach blossoms) blooming across the branches, though why peach blossoms had been added to linden branches Kíli didn’t understand.

Either way, he couldn’t help but reach out to trace the peach blossom that went over the edge of the hair brush, yanking his hand back when it tarnished the brightly polished silver slightly. “You can hold it, dear heart,” Bilbo stated and Kíli glanced hesitantly up before he carefully removed the hair brush from its setting within the box.

“Boar bristles. My father bought these for my mother as an anniversary present,” Bilbo explained.

“Is that why there are peach blossoms on linden tree branches?” Kíli asked and Bilbo chuckled a bit as he nodded.

“Linden trees mean conjugal love and peach blossoms mean _I am your captive._ The flowers across the mirror are myrtles, which simply mean _love_ ,” Bilbo explained, carefully tracing the flowers that looked like soft five point stars with explosions of stems and dots coming from the center.

“Why would he put that, on the brush?” Kíli asked.

“Because my father always said my mother was the only one who could ever capture his heart. She returned that it was pretty easy, considering that he gave it away to her so easily. Her response to this was to have all his buttons replaced with buttons that looked like tansies of course,” Bilbo responded and chuckled as he shook his head.

“Many Hobbits were shocked and some were even bold enough to ask who he had enraged to the point that they declared war on him in such a fashion. He laughed and answered his wife and people became quite a bit less concerned then,” Bilbo continued softly, smiling down at the vanity set still within the box before he set it on the kitchen table next to Kíli while he walked off.

Kíli frowned at the peach blossom hair brush and the myrtle mirror, before focusing on covered jar. “What flower is on the jar’s lid?” Kíli asked and Bilbo came back, a bright green ribbon in his hand.

“Petunias. They mean _your presence soothes me_. My mother thought my father very silly, giving so many declarations in one gift, making a matching set un-matching in the process, but my father was insistent,” Bilbo responded as he carefully plucked the brush from Kíli’s hand and Kíli stilled slightly, wondering why it had been taking from him.

He was sure Mister Bilbo couldn’t read his mind and Kíli suddenly tensed as he felt it being used to brush back his hair, each strand being carefully collected into a pony’s tail before it was tied off with the ribbon, the brush being handed back to him. “There. Now all my hard work won’t be undone, right dear heart?” Bilbo asked.

“Right.” Kíli managed to respond, wondering how to explain this to Amad.

* * *

Thorin stared at the book of flower meanings wondering if he was translating the flowers on his blue ribbon right. While he had found the forget-me-nots rather quickly (and the meaning was a bit obvious now that he had the name of the flower), the second flower stumped him. There were two flowers that were similar, but the first flower, impatiens, meant _impatient_ and made no sense while the second, pansy, meant _think of me_ , made sense. Thorin just wasn’t entirely sure if Bilbo was just stitching. He sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Forget me not impatiently or forget me not and think of me?

Thorin was about to just thunk his head against the desk in the room behind the forge when he heard Kíli. “Uncle said that he would be working in the changes the lady Hobbit with the daughter getting married. And apparently it is a series of coat hooks that is supposed to be on the wall. I call it the flower coat hanger.”

“And she didn’t give him flowers to use?” Bilbo inquired and Thorin immediately hid the ribbon away in his inner pocket, flipping quickly to a random page.

“I think he wants to know what he is saying. Uncle knows a lot of languages for that reason too,” Kíli explained and he heard the distinctive sounds of Kíli working the locking mechanism and then he was entering.

“Uncle, I brought Bilbo! We were wondering if you would be joining us for Lunch or if you were too busy!” Kíli called and Thorin turned to them, stilling when he saw that Kíli’s hair was practically glowing, while also being tied back with a length of bright green ribbon.

“Not at all. What do you have in your hair?” Thorin inquired and Kíli grinned as he ran forward to show Thorin, spinning on a booted heel so Thorin could look at the flowers closer.

“A ribbon Bilbo gave me! He said it was to keep my hair from knotting up like that again on me,” Kíli explained as Thorin ran a calloused finger over the reddish-purple stitching of what looked like a long branch with a bunch of dots of flowers along it, ivy stitched in around it to link it to the entirety of the ribbon, the other side having…primroses.

Why were primroses stitched onto here?

“What are these?” Thorin inquired, trying to decipher what this ribbon meant.

“Sorrel. Not…not very important flowers. On the other side is primrose, which means childhood. Ivy means fidelity, but basically just a vine I know that works so well,” Bilbo explained with a small shrug, Thorin mentally memorizing the one that Bilbo had brushed off.

He would discover what it was, eventually, but in the meantime he mentally set it to the side as he nudged Kíli’s temple with his forehead, earning a giggle. “Well, lunch sounds like a good idea,” Thorin stated as he stood, scooping Kíli up under one arm as he did so.

“Uncle, put me down!” Kíli demanded as Thorin swung his nephew over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Bilbo ducking his head slightly, as if to hide his amusement.

“No, I think not. I am sure that you have run Master Baggins ragged all of today and I think it might be best if I keep you on hand to keep you from any mischief,” Thorin responded and Kíli immediately began to twist in an effort to escape, though he was hardly trying, content to complain and wiggle until he was seated on Thorin’s shoulder, being kept from falling.

Beside them, Bilbo walked calmly, chatting about what to make for Lunch.

By the time Thorin walked through the door of Bag-End, Bilbo had decided to make them chicken pie while starting up a beef stew for Dinner.

Thorin didn’t object, even if it meant he had to eat vegetables.

* * *

Kíli sighed as he stared down at the sheets of paper on the lap desk Mister Bilbo let him have. He had been warned that he shouldn’t use more than three, but to write on the front and back to make longer letters, if it was needed. He sighed softly and slumped slightly.

Fíli hadn’t written him, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t forgive him…right?

Kíli slumped further and stared at the blank sheets of paper before he, slowly, uncapped the ink, dipped the quill into it, and began to write.

_Dearest Mother,_

_I think Mister Bilbo likes Uncle back. He smiles when Uncle isn’t looking and is always trying to feed Uncle, and me, but mostly trying feed Uncle. And I overheard some Hobbits say how feeding is part of courting, but then they said some not very nice things about Mister Bilbo (and I won’t repeat them because that won’t end well for Basil, the Rook I am using, since then the letter will be huge). And Mister Bilbo is really lonely Amad._

_He’s not happy here, not really, but sometimes I think he wouldn’t be happy in Shadowstone either. But he’s happy with Uncle and I, so maybe he needs more friends, we should all move to the Shire Amad! It would be fun._

_Love you! I will continue the letter when I have more to report._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorrel = parental affection
> 
> The ribbon, in case you were wondering, was made by Bilbo for Kíli.


	26. A Stuttering Heart

Thorin sighed softly as he finished cooling the set of coat hooks attached to the metal filigree of flowers, and other plants, that he had carefully hammered out. He had made the majority of it wheat, which meant prosperity, and ivy, which meant fidelity. Starworts had been what he had the coat hooks shaped as, welcoming their guests, and finally decided to replace the suggestion of roses with baby’s breath and heliotrope, as he didn’t have to worry about the roses being taken the wrong way.

He hadn’t even known before reading the book that the roses’ meanings could change depending on the color and now, with his carefully created wedding present before him, ready to be polished, he wondered if maybe he should have put the roses in anyway. Maybe the mother of the daughter was not pleased with the marriage and Thorin let out a low sigh, deciding it was time to take a break for lunch when Kíli trotted into the forge carrying two buckets of coal. “Uncle, the Hobbit we are leasing from wants to talk to you,” Kíli whispered as he put one pail down before he dumped the other into the coal bucket.

“Thank you Kíli. Prep this work for cleaning and polishing, then after that, bank the forge. After lunch, we’ll work on some nails,” Thorin stated and ignored the way Kíli groaned at the mention of nails.

“Yes, Zundushmim, more nails,” Thorin stated as he walked out, grabbing the semi-clean flannel by the entryway as he did so.

He blinked rapidly as the bright light of the afternoon sun assaulted his eyes and it took him more than a few minutes before he managed to clear his vision. He forced a smile on his face upon seeing Mister Goldworthy and gave a small nod of his head. “Mister Goldworthy, I’m sorry I wasn’t immediately available, but I had to finish up a wedding present,” Thorin explained as he hung the flannel back where he had taken it from.

“Brockhouse?” Mister Goldworthy questioned.

“Yes,” Thorin responded softly.

“Her daughter’s marrying a Took. A bunch of coat hooks is for the best. Any child with Took blood in them always ends up being a disgrace. Thankfully, they’ll be living back in the Tookborough and not amongst us _civilized_ Hobbits,” Mister Goldworthy stated and he made a very twisted face that made Thorin think that he was related to Orcs.

“Unlike, of course, _Master_ Baggins,” Mister Goldworthy hissed out and Thorin felt his body tense, suddenly very thankful that Kíli was still inside the forge.

Kíli would probably have attacked the Hobbit that held the lease in his greedy little hands, but Thorin knew better and said nothing, his false smile stretched across his face like a crack in marble as Mister Goldworthy continued to rant about how improper and unworthy Bilbo was.

It took all of Thorin’s self-control to keep from hurting the Hobbit, as he continued to speak of such things about Bilbo, about _his One_! This _Halfling_ was lucky he had control of this forge or Thorin would have made this ûnrukhs pay with his blood and bones.  When he finally left, a commission for half price demanded, and Thorin had retreated to the back of the forge, his thoughts darker than pits of Khazad-dûm.

* * *

Bilbo sighed as he retreated to his office, smiling over the breakfast partially shared with Kíli before Master Nothir dragged him out, and he was prepared to face the stacks of paperwork—which had neither shrunk nor grown since dragging two Dwarves into his life—when he stopped dead in the doorway of his office.

On top of his paperwork was a bundle of flowers, carefully tied with a plain blue ribbon that matched the one he had given Master Nothir.

At first glance, it looked like any other number of bouquets that could mean any number of things. Curiosity won out as Bilbo crept closer and, hesitantly, picked up the bouquet, his breath catching in his chest as his heart skipped a beat when he translated what he held in his hands.

Because this bouquet wasn’t just _any_ bouquet; it was a very unusual _courtship_ bouquet, carefully created by…whoever.

Alyssum and bluebell with sprigs of baby’s breath intermixed, the acacia laid at the front saying it was from a secret lover. Fingers trembling, Bilbo traced each petal and then pulled it close to his chest as he nuzzled into the flowers and inhaled slowly.

He knew he would be late to work that day as he carried the bouquet to the kitchen, setting it on the table carefully and then pulled down a vase. He was gentle as he settled the bouquet into the half-filled crystal vase, tugging the ribbon free to tie around the vase. He smiled as he lifted the crystal with both hands and carried it back to his study, gently settling it on a safe shelf.

His internal clock was telling him it was already three-quarters of the way to Second Breakfast but he ignored it, focusing on the flowers. Whoever had given them to him, either Nothir or Kíli, probably didn’t…

Bilbo swallowed harshly and just stared at the flowers, allowing the warmth the bouquet brought him to fill his entire being. When the time for Second Breakfast came, Bilbo turned away from the flowers and to his window. With a tiny smile on his face he opened the window and then settled at his desk, starting the day’s work.

He would ignore his internal clock till Tea Time rolled around and only then did he stand up to shut the window before heading to the kitchen to start on Supper.

* * *

Thorin let out an annoyed growl as he eyed the various bouquets, each filled with symbols of love and devotion that he had created carefully settled around the room. He’d been at this for three weeks and his plan was obviously not working.

He let out another growl and resisted the urge to just say something to Bilbo directly. With a roll of his shoulders, he ruffled Kíli’s hair as he passed him in the kitchen. “Uncle?” Kíli questioned as he twisted to watch him go and Bilbo paused in making breakfast to stare at him.

“I have to go work on a specific commission and I want it done so I can work on others I would prefer to,” Thorin explained softly as he nudged Kíli’s forehead with his own.

“Okay Uncle,” Kíli stated and Thorin looked up to where Bilbo watched him with wide eyes.

“I’ll see you this afternoon, Bilbo,” Thorin stated as he stood up slowly and he watched Bilbo’s ears turn red, smiling softly at him.

“I’ll see you this afternoon…Nothir,” Bilbo answered and Thorin gave a small nod, ignoring the way his heart twinged at hearing the wrong name coming from his One’s lips.

He then left, hefting up his pack over his shoulder as he went, stepping out the door. He had only walked a smial down when a feminine voice called, “Master Blacksmith, have a moment?”

Thorin paused and turned, only to find Mistress Greenhand, Halfred’s wife, staring at him over the fence and Thorin nodded as he walked over to her. “Do you have the time to speak to me at length Master Blacksmith?” she stated and Thorin nodded, shifting his weight slightly to keep the bag on his shoulder.

“Good. Come with me,” she ordered and Thorin followed after her, knowing better than to argue with any woman who was a wife and mother.

* * *

“You must understand that when Bella died, I lost one of my best friends. She was a kind soul, and undeserving of the hate that was aimed at her, but Hobbits are not kind. If someone falls outside of their idea of ‘normal’ they are fair game. I truly don’t understand it, but that is just how Hobbits are, at least in Hobbiton,” Ivy explained as she stirred her tea calmly, watching the way Master Nothir held his own tea cup.

He was not used to them, obviously and Ivy sighed. “So, what I am going to tell you is not to go past us, do you understand?” she stated and Nothir nodded.

She humphed a bit and gave a nod. “You’re quite serious about Bilbo and I commend you for that. But there is some things you must know; the first being that Bilbo is a rarity among Hobbits. Holman was not an only child till the Fell Winter came to pass and his sister passed on. No child has ever been born alone…and neither was Bilbo,” she answered and watched Nothir twitched at that.

“I won’t explain; that is for Bilbo. But here is something he won’t, because he won’t think to. Halfred and I…spent some time outside of the Shire. For our reasons. You need to know that, within the Shire, there are some…who carry a certain gene. There are males who can bear young and females who can sire young. Bilbo…can bear young. Well, theoretically,” she stated and watched the way the Dwarf stilled, followed by the crashing of her least favorite tea cup.

Well, that went better tha—

She sighed heavily as Master Nothir hit the ground as he fell from his chair in a dead faint. “Big Folk; they’re so easily startled,” she grumbled and sipped her tea as she waited for Nothir to recover.

* * *

“How do you know this?” Thorin asked and Mistress Greenhand set her empty tea cup to the side.

“Belladonna and Bungo had a party to celebrate. Normally, it would…that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Hobbits of Hobbiton, and most likely the entirety of the Shire, believe Bilbo to follow in his mother’s footsteps and _that_ is up to Bilbo to discuss with you. I just felt you should know that pregnancy is an option when it comes to Bilbo. I just don’t want it jumped on you when Bilbo gets pregnant and has no idea how to tell you and when he stumbles over his words, you can comfort him with the fact you know. _If_ you continue to pursue this courtship, that is,” Mistress Greenhand explained sharply, green eyes narrowed at him in a fashion Thorin thought was entirely Belladonna, despite the fact the pair were not related.

“I highly doubt I have to worry about a pregnancy,” Thorin muttered.

“You’ve never been with a Hobbit,” Mistress Greenhand shot back and huffed a bit.

“And I will only be able to continue the courtship _if_ he ever notices that I am courting him,” Thorin muttered.

“You’re being too subtle. The last time someone tried to court Bilbo, it was for his inheritance, so he’ll ignore the signs. You have to be bold! You have to prove to him that _yes you want this_! You want a life with Bilbo! I’m not saying you can undo a _lifetime_ of damage, but I am sure you and that nephew of yours will be more than adequate in healing him,” she responded as she stared down at him.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at her. “Be bold?” Thorin inquired.

“Bold. Something…obvious. Or…something that’ll push him in the right direction,” she explained, waving her hand, with the spoon still grasped within it, in a circle.

“Like what?” Thorin asked and she fixed him with a glare.

“When was the last time that matted rat’s nest on your head you call hair was combed?” she inquired and Thorin’s eyes widened at the implications.

Mistress Greenhand merely smiled and settled back with her tea, reminding Thorin of one of his—the—cats that lived around the stables who had just nabbed a particularly tricky mouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I wasn’t going to repeat Bilbo finding the bouquets multiple times over. Each one is basically just Thorin saying, “I love you,” in new and creative ways and each time Bilbo reacts about the same. If one was found on Bilbo’s pillow, I would have written it in, but Thorin wouldn't do that.
> 
> Anyway, the exact meaning of the bouquet I show;
> 
> Alyssum = Worth beyond beauty
> 
> Bluebell = constancy
> 
> Baby’s breath = everlasting love
> 
> Acacia = secret love
> 
> Heliotrope, which is used by Thorin for the set of coat hooks, means ‘devoted love.’
> 
> Thorin tries. He’s adorable and he tries.
> 
> Oh… ûnrukhs is probably butchered Khuzdhul for ‘son of an orc’.


	27. Home is Found

“Are you sure about this?” Bilbo inquired and he heard Nothir’s sigh softly.

“I am very sure Bilbo,” he answered and Bilbo chewed at his bottom lip, wondering why Nothir was letting Bilbo comb out his matted mess of hair.

“This…this is going to take all day. And I need something to help take out these clumps without…cutting it. Kíli said how hair was important and just…this is going to take all day. We’ll probably have to start right after First Breakfast and work throughout the day. In the garden, because I am not going to clean clumps of your hair out of various corners of my smial for the rest of my life, I’ll have you know,” Bilbo stated, feeling the tips of his ears heat up slightly as he realized that he wouldn’t mind that at all.

Wouldn’t mind keeping Nothir’s hair smooth and free of tangles, for all that he refused to wear braids. Without much thought behind the action, Bilbo reached up to that mess of hair that hung off Master Nothir’s head and ran his fingers along one particularly horrific mess of tangles. Parts were rough and…not very pleasant to touch, really, but there was that feeling of what could be. Bilbo felt the heat spread from the tips of his ears to his cheeks as he registered what he had done and pulled his hand back.

“That’s all right. It can wait till my next day off,” Nothir answered and Bilbo swallowed as the Dwarf smith gave Bilbo one of those _real_ smiles Nothir so rarely granted, obvious in the way it made the corners of his cerulean eyes crinkle and Bilbo felt his face heat up as his heart stuttered in his chest. “Thank you,” he stated as he carefully stepped into Bilbo’s space.

There was a breath and Bilbo felt his hand grasped gently in a calloused one. Chapped lips surrounded by prickly beard brushed gently against the back of his hand and Bilbo felt his brain just _stop_.

Nothir just kissed the back of his hand.

Bilbo was pretty sure that he would never think again, because all he could do was stare at Nothir, who was still holding his hand gently, partially bowed over from where he kissed it, staring up at him, watching, calm.

So very calm.

Why was Nothir so calm when Bilbo’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest?

“Next week,” Bilbo breathed out softly and Nothir smiled, gentle and beaming up at Bilbo, somehow, before he stood and…

 _Oh_.

His father smiled at his mother like that, once upon a time.

Bilbo felt the back of his neck heat up at the thought of Nothir every loving Bilbo as much as his father loved his mother and he looked away from the smith. “Next week,” Nothir stated and Bilbo risked a glance over at the Dwarf to find the smile was still there.

That warm loving smile that felt like the first rays of spring spreading across the frozen winter landscape.

Bilbo nodded back, a small smile on his face in return.

* * *

“This…this is truly horrific. When was the last time you took a comb, or even a soft brush, to your hair?” Bilbo asked as he carefully worked on a mat at the bottom of his hair.

“Amad says the last time Uncle combed his hair extensively was a decade ago. Amad had to have Adad and our cousins hold him down so she could do it. She was not kind,” Kíli supplied cheerfully from where he was playing with the various Rooks, Basil among them.

Nothir did not answer him and, instead, settled more firmly against Bilbo’s legs, as if he could keep out of sight from the Rooks by molding to Bilbo. The tension in his shoulders felt rock hard and _painful_ to Bilbo, who was unsure if he should pause in working on the insufferable Dwarf’s hair to get out the tension or if he should just focus on the hair. “Two months,” Nothir muttered and Bilbo let out a sound that sent the Rooks, briefly, scattering, before they sailed back down to continue distracting Kíli.

“Two _months_?” Bilbo nearly screeched and ignored the look Nothir sent him while Bilbo paused in combing out the dead hair from the living while Kíli cackled on the grass near them.

“Oh…oh…my, by the Garden Mother and Forest Father, you are…impossible,” Bilbo grumbled and focused back Nothir’s hair, thankful that he had Nothir carry out a bench to the backyard.

If he had to stand while doing this, he would need to be carried everywhere for a month otherwise, never mind not actually being able to reach Nothir’s hair. After a few minutes of steadily working on the smallest tangle, Bilbo began to hum softly, pausing to remove the hair from the comb, unsurprised when some Rooks immediately rushed to collect it before taking off. “What are they doing?” Nothir demanded.

“Master Nothir, these Rooks are adding softness to their nests for their young, or, in some cases, to replace what was lost. It is spring and that means all over the Shire, new beginnings are arising. Rooks have already laid their eggs and hatched them, for Thrimidge is nearly upon us. Even Basil and his mate have hatched their eggs and raised their young to the point that they could leave the nest, despite the pair of them liking to be later than the rest. I am sure he’s been eyeing your hair this entire time in hopes of adding the strands to next year’s nest will be even warmer and softer than this year’s,” Bilbo answered gently as he smiled a bit at the tangle he had finally detangled, most of it dead hair.

With a smile, Bilbo returned to humming as he shifted his hand up higher, grasping just above the next matted chunk, and started again.

Nothir’s hair really was softer than he had thought it would be, once it was combed out.

Oily, yes, but in a few days Master Nothir could wash it and then his hair would cling to wet skin. Well sculpted and wet skin, water droplets running down a powerful chest, droplets clinging to some chest hair, or even down his back to trail down a well formed backside.

Bilbo’s felt his ears catch fire and he ducked his head slightly as he focused intently on the tangle.

Get the hair untangled and do not think of how nice it would be to care for Nothir’s hair every day, and definitely do _not_ think of his powerful body, and how nice it would be- NO! Horrible thoughts, horrid and downright not _proper_ thoughts and he should stop that right now!

Bilbo felt like his face was on fire along with his ears as he took a deep breath, the scent of spring doing nothing to calm him down as he focused intently on the combing all the knots out of Nothir’s hair.

* * *

Bilbo bit back a hiss of pain as he settled a clip into Nothir’s softer-than-Bilbo-expected hair to keep it separated from the rest of the tangled mess and carefully flexed his hands, wincing a bit at the way the cramps protested the movement.

He looked up at the sky, letting out a low groan as he felt his neck and back muscles protesting the movement after so long sitting in one position. He let out soft sound as he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly with surprise to discover that the sun was at its zenith and he, slowly, looked back down at Nothir’s hair.

He nearly slumped over in defeat to see that it was only halfway done and Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his head around a bit before he made sure none of the comb’s teeth were bent.

Once he was reassured, he settled the borrowed Dwarvish comb in the box with the clips and shut it. “Alright, time for Lunch,” Bilbo declared brightly as he stood up, wincing as his tensed muscles protested the movement.

The Rooks scattered when Kíli cheered loudly and ran over to them, Nothir already halfway to standing.

“I think I will make some soup,” Bilbo mused as he gently picked up the box, ignoring the way his fingers twitched.

They were spasms Bilbo was used to seeing, as he got them whenever he worked a bit too long on his ledgers, and he was able to easily ignore them, even when these spasms were coupled with the low burn that filled his palms. But a half of Master Nothir’s hair was combed out, free of tangles and matting and dead hair.

Bilbo smiled brightly as he picked up the box carefully and nodded once. “If you would please carry these in, Master Nothir, I need to get my mail,” Bilbo stated and headed for the mailbox as Kili followed.

“What kind of soup will we have Mister Bilbo?” Kíli asked excitedly, a sheet of paper covered in semi-familiar runes clutched tightly in his hand.

“I was thinking beef stew, with some of those vegetables you like,” Bilbo answered, smiling a bit as Kíli immediately began to defend himself.

“I do not like the weed-eater’s food! I like carrots though! Carrots are good. So are potatoes! Or maybe, maybe, turnips, but definitely carrots…”

Bilbo chuckled and paused at his mailbox to pull out the letters before turned to Kíli, who was still talking about the vegetables he liked because they were _not_ ‘weed-eater’ food. “Kíli?” Bilbo questioned and the Dwarfling turned to him, quiet.

“Yes?” he responded.

“Did you know carrots are roots?” Bilbo asked and couldn’t help but laugh at the utter look of _betrayal_ that crossed Kíli’s face.

He nearly jumped right of his skin when Nothir joined in with his deep, rich laugh a box held tight in one hand.

* * *

Thorin shook his head slightly as the last clip was removed, wondering over how…light his skull felt, now that it was free of the knots that had so long plagued it. That was Thorin’s fault, of course, but it still felt…a bit like relief, even if his scalp hurt a bit from the tugging that had gone into removing those knots. “There. And we only had to do the last bit inside!” Bilbo stated in a brightly strained tone and Thorin turned to face him, his frown upon hearing the tone deepening when he saw the way Bilbo was trying, and failing, to flex his hands, the comb already set next to the box on the side table.

His One’s forehead was scrunched slightly, the wrinkles obviously caused by pain, and they were only deepened by the firelight. When Bilbo realized that Thorin was staring up at him, his face quickly smoothed as he placed his hands in his lap, a tightness remaining around his eyes. “Master Nothir?” he inquired softly and let out a tiny sound of pain as Thorin carefully grasped one of his hands.

“You hurt yourself,” Thorin rumbled softly as he began to slowly shift so he could face Bilbo, even though the Hobbit was seated in a chair while Thorin was seated on a thick pillow on the floor.

“Master Nothir, this…this is really not appropriate,” Bilbo stuttered out, his face reddening in the firelight while at the same time his eyes seemed to glisten slightly more than before.

“What is inappropriate about me wishing to undo the damage done? If you wish me to stop, I shall,” Thorin answered, holding the hand, though prepared to withdraw.

If his One thought he would not respect a ‘no’, then there could be no chance for them and he probably should have asked before grabbing, but Thorin…Thorin wanted to heal Bilbo, to hold and cherish him. He wanted to make this little Hobbit happy, to hear him laugh and see one of those _real_ smiles that light up his face be there because of _Thorin_. He wanted to be the one to catch Bilbo when he fell, unable to stand on his own feet, and help him back up again.

When Bilbo did not answer him, instead just looking away, Thorin slowly released Bilbo’s hand. “Do you wish me to leave?” he asked, though the question hadn’t even been finished being spoken before Bilbo was shaking his head.

“No…no, you can, if you want,” Bilbo whispered and Thorin nodded in understanding, gently taking up Bilbo’s hand once more.

His One hissed as Thorin drew Bilbo’s hand closer, wincing when he saw the way it was curled over slightly. He remembered when he was young and being scolded by the Master of Arms for training so long and grasping too tightly before showing him how to massage his hands so the muscles would relax. He was about to start when he felt Bilbo’s fingers spasm against his palm and heard the pained whine that was practically muffled in Bilbo’s throat. “I’ll be right back. I need some ointment,” Thorin murmured softly as he stood up and walked quickly to his room, unsurprised to see Kíli open his eyes when he went to the table that held the ointments.

“Go to sleep,” Thorin murmured softly.

Kíli shook his head slightly and Thorin smiled before he walked over, settling on the bed next to his nephew. “Yes,” he whispered softly as he ran a gentle hand over Kíli’s hair.

“Not till this,” Kíli mumbled as he leaned up to nudge his forehead against Thorin’s, smiling as he flopped back down onto the bed.

“You look good Uncle,” he whispered and then he turned over, curling up tight under the blankets (and making a twisted mess of them around him), passing back out shortly after he settled.

Thorin smiled and rubbed his nephew’s upper arm before he stood up from the bed. He grabbed the ointment he had come in for, grabbing a flannel to keep the ointment from staining anything, and walked back out to the den, surprised to find Bilbo had moved from his chair to the sofa next to the window.

His Hobbit was staring out at the night, fire changing his hair again, giving it life that otherwise seemed hidden by the darkness. Thorin cleared his throat, his cheeks feeling hotter than normal, and Bilbo jumped slightly before he turned to face him. “Nothir,” Bilbo greeted hesitantly and Thorin walked over to him.

Thorin settled on the sofa across from Bilbo, his knees brushing up against Bilbo’s knee and shin, Bilbo tensing slightly at the touch. Thorin eyed him for a brief moment before he focused down, balancing the jar of ointment on his knee and removed the lid, the smell of mint assaulting his nose as Bilbo relaxed a fraction. “Mint,” Bilbo breathed and Thorin nodded as he gently grasped Bilbo’s left hand, wincing at the soft sound of pain that escaped.

“Sorry,” Thorin murmured softly as he slowly uncuffed Bilbo’s sleeve and rolled it back, settling the non-dominant hand back onto Bilbo’s lap before doing the same for the right, though this he kept this one in his grasp.

He carefully cradled it for a few moments, wincing when he felt Bilbo’s fingers hit his palm in uncontrolled spasms, and he cautiously scooped out a tiny bit of ointment. With sure fingers and patience, he began to rub across the entirety of the back of Bilbo’s hand, massaging gently from the knuckles back to the wrist, massaging as he carefully turned Bilbo’s hand palm up. A bit more ointment and Thorin cradled Bilbo’s hand before he spread the ointment, shifting his hands carefully before he began to massage from the base of Bilbo’s fingers down to wrist, careful with each muscle and bone, feeling the stress of the day in each small tremor until they slowly died away, Bilbo’s hand slowly uncurling.

Thorin glanced up at Bilbo on occasion, particularly when he got to the wrist, smiling as, over time, Bilbo slowly relaxed until he was slumped against the side of the sofa, which was high enough to keep him from being too uncomfortable, hopefully. Eventually Bilbo even stopped watching him to instead close his eyes and Thorin began to hum lowly.

When the right hand was limp and relaxed in Thorin’s hands, he debated going up Bilbo’s arms before deciding against it. He hadn’t rolled Bilbo’s sleeves up high enough and he wasn’t sure where Bilbo’s boundaries were. And, if Thorin was being honest with himself, he wanted the first full bodied massage he gave Bilbo to be _after_ Bilbo knew how he felt. With a slight flush, he carefully cradling Bilbo’s right hand with his left and gently reached out to pick up Bilbo’s left hand with his right. Bilbo hissed a bit and opened his eyes, watching Thorin through slits as he carefully placed Bilbo’s right hand on the flannel spread out across Bilbo’s legs. Thorin smiled at Bilbo before he scooped out more ointment from the jar and repeated the process with Bilbo’s left hand.

This one wasn’t nearly so bad as Bilbo’s right hand, allowing for Thorin, once he felt Bilbo had relaxed, to run his fingers lightly across Bilbo’s pulse, testing a boundary. He felt Bilbo tense and the Hobbit’s eyes snapped opened to stare at him. “Why did you…um…what?” Bilbo inquired softly as he stared at Thorin, who brushed his fingers pointedly across Bilbo’s pulse point once more, smiling a bit when he felt Bilbo’s fingers twitch, calmly, against his palm.

“It is something Dwarves do, just to feel a connection with those that they love,” Thorin answered softly and he felt Bilbo jerk slightly.

“Don’t,” Bilbo whispered as he looked away, tried to pull away, but Thorin followed.

“Don’t what?” Thorin inquired softly.

“Don’t say that! Not if you don’t mean it!” Bilbo snapped though he did not try and pull away.

He actually wrapped his fingers weakly around Thorin’s hand. “Bilbo…do you know why I let you comb out my hair?” Thorin asked softly, as he tried to catch Bilbo’s gaze.

“Because there wasn’t any family member nearby to comb it out for you?” Bilbo whispered and Thorin carefully shifted his grip on Bilbo’s left hand until his fingers were resting against his pulse and he reached up to gently cradle Bilbo’s face to encourage Bilbo to look up at him.

“Dwarves usually only allow family close to their heads, as it is the sign of ultimate trust. One such person outside of the family is a shield-sibling, one you have shed blood with, killed with, and maybe will one day die with. Another is the healer, if needed, but that isn't really a full choice and often done out of necessity. The only other person allowed is…the Dwarf’s One, the only one they’ll love their entire life. No matter how much I needed it, I never would have asked if I did not love you…and if Mistress Greenhand hadn’t suggested it when it seemed that you were ignoring my previous attempts,” Thorin responded and Bilbo shook his head a little, even as he tried to pull away, but Thorin’s grip on his wrist was firm as it was gentle.

“I-I don’t need your pity! I did not, did not help you for...this,” Bilbo protested weakly, his breath hitching, twisting his hand to hold onto Thorin’s wrist, his right hand flying up to hit Thorin, half-heartedly, on his chest before just resting above his heart.

Thorin shifted his hand to try and not be so confining, to give Bilbo the option to pull away only for Bilbo press his head further into Thorin’s palm, staring at him with wide eyes.

Thorin adjusted his grip to comfort Bilbo and resisted the urge to curl around him, giving his Hobbit breathing room. “I am not saying this out of pity, Bilbo Baggins! I tried to court you in the manner of Hobbits, but you’re as stubborn as a Dwarf and, apparently, as blind as a new born kitten to not have realized who they came from, or maybe you did but stayed ignorant to the message they presented! You, Bilbo Baggins, are my precious One. You are the one who made me feel like I was freed from the stone that held my heart, as if I had finally awoken from a long slumber that I had not even realized I was in. But around you, my Bilbo, my One who was so fragile yet so strong, there was a wall built of granite and I thought of telling you, but I did not know if shattering the wall would shatter _you_ as well, and the idea of harming you made my soul feel as if it were made of lead. So, I tried. I tried to reach you in the way of your people but it did not work,” Thorin pleaded, watching Bilbo stare at him, though the hand resting over his heart tensed, clutching Thorin’s shirt in his fist.

“So, now I am trying the way of my people. Do you hear me now, my One? Do you feel the same way I do? Is there still a chance for us or has the very thing I feared come to pass?” Thorin pleaded as he felt his eyes sting as he swallowed back his fear and grief of causing either of them any pain with his confession.

He could only hope that he hadn’t caused them harm with his words.

“It’s not pity?” Bilbo asked in a trembling voice as tears started to slip down his face.

“It is not pity, Bilbo, and if you say it again, then I will have to find you a healer, for you hearing must have failed you as much as your sight has! I love you more than a dwarf loves their craft and with strength equal to that I have for my family. I will love you, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, until I am returned to stone and in the halls of my ancestors,” Thorin answered as he held on, leaning into Bilbo’s space, but not encroaching on it more than he already had.

Thorin felt his heart stop when Bilbo released his wrist and he felt the fear and grief merge in his chest, a tangled knot of emotions that made it difficult to breathe when Bilbo’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as he sobbed loudly in Thorin’s ear. Thorin felt tears of relief escape as he returned Bilbo’s tight hold, burying his nose into those copper curls as Bilbo’s answering chant of “I love you” echoing behind the harsh sobs.

For a moment, Bilbo pulled back, burying his fingers into newly combed hair, before he pulled Thorin into their first kiss, petal soft lips meeting harshly chapped ones.

It was not the best of kisses, as their teeth clashed against each other hard enough that he almost feared one of them chipped a tooth, but Thorin closed his eyes in bliss because, for the first time since he was exiled, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, felt at home.

* * *

“You will return by Aston?” Bilbo asked softly as he passed a basket of bread and dried fruit to Thorin, who smiled gently at him.

“Aston,” Thorin promised as he leaned forward and brushed his forehead against Bilbo’s, the braid of courtship tied with a royal blue ribbon that was embroidered with orange, red, and purple roses, lilies, and ivy slipping out from behind Thorin’s ear to swing between them, the early morning light catching the sheen of silk and making it glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww! Look at the happiness!
> 
> Enjoy it! Embrace it! Know that it will probably not continue for long.
> 
> Anyway…
> 
> Rose meanings; Orange = fascination, Red = love, Purple = enchantment
> 
> Lily = majesty
> 
> Ivy = fidelity
> 
> (For anyone wanting to know about the braid; those Thorin can have. Thorin just can't have braids that tie him to his _kin_ or show anything like, battles won or such. A braid that shows he's courting is needed, along with a marriage braid in case any Dwarf thinks, "This is the one I want and will have no other," so they don't, you know, exile themselves for no reason. It is complicated, but I actually did think it out.)

**Author's Note:**

> [Here are Ewebean's  _beautiful_ pictures attached to this! THEY ARE PRETTY!!! SO PRETTY! YOU NEED TO SEE!!!](http://ewebean.tumblr.com/post/85334307366/illustrations-for-moonrose91s-story-a-home-for)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> FOR THE BIG BANG!!!
> 
> *cackles madly*
> 
> This, by the way, is the huge epic that nearly wasn't finished on time.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Well...sorta enjoy.


End file.
